


On Bodies, Corporeal and Otherwise

by Fuuma_san



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Body Horror, Discorporation (Good Omens), Exhibitionism, Explicit content is skippable, Eyes, Filthy, Futanari, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Heaven and Hell versus Earth, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Temporary Character Death, Voyeurism, not violent often voluntary discorporation, plug and play genitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuuma_san/pseuds/Fuuma_san
Summary: "My dear, I apologize for asking such an indelicate question, but ah…Do you… how long do you think it'll take... for me to um. T-to.. To Fall. I know it's not, ah... instantaneous after transgressing. I know it’s not exactly a pleasant topic of conversation, but I was just hoping you might have some… insight. From the other side.”“You’re not gonna Fall,” Crowley scoffed, waving a hand as if to brush away the idea. “You’re the best angel of the lot of ‘em.”Aziraphale grew quiet for a moment, and when he replied it was smooth and gentle. “I’ve rebelled against heaven, my dear boy. Twice now, even. It’s rather the expected outcome. But that’s alright. I’ve come to terms with it, mostly, plus I've experienced something similar before."----------------The Principality Aziraphale and his demon Crowley learn more about their different bodies and how to use them for a variety of purposes. Heaven and Hell just want to destroy them both and get on to the war.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 173





	1. Discorporating and Incorporating on Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has skippable smut, if NSFW isn't your jam. I'll be leaving  [/sex]  links that if you click on them, will jump to the end of the smut. 
> 
> Feel free to yell at me for more, or for the angst or if you want something to happen, it's all lovely and motivating for me. Feel free to leave comments if you find any typos I've missed so I can fix them. 
> 
> 💜 to all my readers 💜 Enjoy!

Aziraphale wasn’t thinking when he took Crowley’s hand on the bus that was miraculously going to London, so he did it smoothly, without hesitating. Well, he _had_ been thinking, quite a lot of thinking indeed, but not about what he was doing at that moment, instead about what they _should_ be doing or rather, _needed_ to do still, with their sides, or lack thereof. He must have just wanted Crowley’s reassuring presence to feel a little more real, more immediate, he supposed. Sitting there, holding Crowley's hand certainly was soothing. 

Crowley quirked one eyebrow in inquiry, but Aziraphale barely registered his surroundings and so didn’t know how to answer the unspoken question in front of him. Which, apparently, had been answer enough, since Crowley just gave his hand a gentle squeeze, held it, turned back to the window, and watched the scenery go by. 

At this point, what exactly Aziraphale had done truly dawned on him, and now he was blushing, frozen in shock and awe, staring at their intertwined hands as they rested against their thighs. What could possibly have possessed him into… to taking such a huge step. They’d barely ever touched before, and now, half his body was alight with the warmth of their contact, their human edges intertwined.

But… well… It _was_ quite reassuring. Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s presence here. Solid. Safe. And that squeeze must mean that it was alright that he’d done it, that Crowley wasn’t angry at Aziraphale for crossing boundaries that were centuries in the making. So Aziraphale relaxed into it and enjoyed the warmth and companionship of his happy accident.

The ride back to London was quiet and calm, and they gently rocked with the bus’s motions hand in hand. It helped focus Aziraphale's mind as he returned to pondering the prophecy tucked into his pocket, turning ideas over and running scenarios in his head. He got quite wrapped up in it, and didn’t notice when the bus stopped until Crowley withdrew his hand and stood.

“Ah, right, yes,” Aziraphale said, shaking himself out of it and standing up. They left the bus, and Aziraphale froze again when he realized they had arrived outside Crowley’s flat. “Oh.” It made sense, he supposed. He hadn’t actually said no to the invitation, or said somewhere else he would go. Or even put any thought at all into somewhere else he’d go. He didn’t really fancy the idea of being alone at the moment, homeless as he currently was.

Crowley hooked a thumb in the direction of the front door. “Are you not, uh, coming up, then?” 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together in a moment of consideration. “I believe I shall, if your offer still stands.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Course it does.”

And so he followed Crowley up, quickly becoming lost in his fretting again. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Crowley, on the other hand, was having an exhausting, confusing evening. If he’d stopped to think about it, he would have thought many things, surely, but he was exhausted, and a little drunk, and did he mention exhausted? When was the last time he’d done that many miracles in one day? Never, that’s when. And such large ones. They’d been having a lovely celebration, getting a bit smashed at a bus stop, until he’d invited Aziraphale home with him. After that, the angel had grown distant, mostly just staring off into the distance. Crowley was too tired to deal with the stinging ache his withdrawal had left in his chest, too tired to fight the flashbacks it evoked of the recent past, where the angel said that it was over, when he’d rejected him repeatedly, so Crowley just drank the last of his blessed wine and tried to stay awake.

But then the blasted angel had grabbed his hand, interlaced their fingers and just set it on their now-touching knees, pressed against him from hip to foot. It set his heart pounding and his thoughts sluggishly swirling in confusion. And when a wide-eyed Crowley stared at him, he just glanced back, innocence shining from his eyes and his whole body screaming “Hmm? What?” like this was something at all normal, something that evoked no question. It made Crowley twitch his grip with shock. 

_Right. Okay, I’m too tired. I’ll deal with this later_ , Crowley thought, and turned away in order to try and put it straight out of his mind. He fixed his gaze out the window. He did _not_ think about the warmth of it, or let it wash over him, because then he _definitely_ would have fallen asleep. 

The silent and distant Aziraphale had continued to ignore him _and yet_ continued to hold his hand the whole ride, then had suddenly decided he _was_ spending the night in the flat, and was now in his home. Aziraphale was mildly curious about his home when they entered, but thankfully hadn’t really looked around much. He’d settled on the couch and was now twiddling his thumbs slowly as he stared at a wall. Crowley had no idea how to read the mixed signals and he didn’t want to bother; he wanted to curl up in Aziraphale’s lap and sleep for a few days. He couldn’t just do what he wanted when it came to Aziraphale though. He never could.

“Um… Tea? Or more alcohol?” Crowley offered. 

“Tea sounds lovely, dear, thank you.”

“Right.” 

Thank someone he’d always hoped to entertain the angel, and so didn’t have to miracle up anything to make his guest a cuppa. Aziraphale preferred non-miracled refreshments, so he’d always kept a full tea service in his kitchen. When he handed a fresh, steaming mug over, his angel beamed up at him, dropping a breathy “thank you, dear.” Crowley nodded, leaving the pot on the table in front of them, not bothering to pour himself any. 

And then the blasted angel went back to staring at the wall, idly sipping from time to time. Crowley stifled a grumble and settled low in the couch beside him, resting his neck on the back. This was not the time to beg for the angel’s hand again, or to lean against him, and nothing else was coming to mind with him this close by.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he did anyway. The sunlight woke him slowly, he had ample time to realize he’d shifted in his sleep, and was now laying down, curled on his side, his head resting on some terribly warm, comfortable pillow. There was a weight on him, a blanket of some sorts, and he blearily opened his eyes to look at it. It was tartan. That explained a lot.

“Oh, welcome back!” a peppy voice said from above. Crowley swiveled his eyes and realized he was staring up at Aziraphale, who was beaming down at him. 

Because he was sleeping on Aziraphale’s lap.

Crowley panicked and shot up, scooting to the far edge of the couch, briefly getting tangled in the blanket. His damned thoughts before he’d fallen asleep must have landed him here, ruining this, giving him away. Running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at the angel, he said, “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t… I was asleep.”

“Quite. You seemed to need it. Feeling better?”

“A bit, yeah.” He sneaked a glance. Aziraphale was still grinning like a kid on Christmas and hadn’t really moved but to turn more towards where Crowley had bunched up. He didn’t seem bothered by Crowley’s indiscretions, which was good.

“Excellent! Because I think I’ve solved the riddle. I know how to keep us safe.”

“I’m sorry, the what? What riddle? Safe from what?”

“Heaven and Hell. Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy. I know what we need to do.”

“Oh. Okay. What?”

“We need to trade corporeal forms. My dear, you were always right about Heaven and Hell. They don’t pay attention, they don’t honestly care about us. They’ll never notice that our ethereal and occult forms aren’t what they are supposed to be, because they never really examine _anything_ very deeply.” Aziraphale snorted, “They’re not really one for thinking, or complexity. So, if we ‘Choose our faces wisely,’ by choosing each other’s, we can withstand what they intend for us.” 

“Uh...”

Aziraphale fidgeted a little by smoothing his trousers, waiting. Crowley tried to process the info dump, still half asleep and tired. Aziraphale seemed to sense his slow cogs trying to grind away, and tried to help.

“We need to possess each other’s bodies in order to trade corporations. Our respective superiors will be coming for us soon.”

“How?”

Aziraphale perked up more at this, if it was at all possible, “My recent experience with discorporation and human body possession gave me the insight! I think it would be fairly easy for me to discorporate myself on purpose and then if you did the same, I could possess your body. Then we wouldn’t even have to worry about any, uh, unintended consequences if our opposite natures were, um... _opposed_ to incorporeal contact. Surely, as a demon, you’ve possessed a human before?” Crowley nodded. He had, here and there over the millennia. “So it would be like that! But easier, none of this sharing business.”

“Right. Sounds doable. You, ah, you sure about this?”

“Quite sure! Are you ready?”

“Ngk… n-now?” Crowley looked around the room, trying to catch up, but not really managing. He trusted Aziraphale, who was very intelligent, and Crowley knew he had their best interests at heart. “ ‘Spose so.”

“Excellent! Should you go first or shall I? You’re the more experienced.”

“I’ll go. Prop your body where it won’t fall down,” he said as he leaned back against the couch.

“Right, good thinking!” and Aziraphale settled down, almost mirroring what Crowley had done. With a little concentration, Crowley felt himself pulling up by his wings, like a cicada pulling out of its carapace, out of his form and floating freely in the aether. In this form, you didn’t really see anything on the material plane, but you felt it, and he felt the waiting hollowness of his body nearby. It was also easier than ever to feel the presence of the angel, a radiant beaming light that almost scalded him. He’d been able to sense that presence from miles away since the dawn of humanity, and this close to it was almost like basking in the light of God. After a long wait, he felt the angel move, leaving behind his hollow body below. With it, an urgent sense of “danger” also appeared, the holy light started growing much, much brighter, the danger feeling becoming more imminent as the vast angel started filling the room. Crowley fled into Aziraphale’s vacated body. 

He opened his eyes and saw himself— well, his body— still slumped and empty. Aziraphale’s body felt big, and he stretched inside it, filling out the edges, stretching his limbs and trying to settle in, wiggling fingers and toes. In a moment, his body —ex-body— started to move and breathe, now animated by his angel. 

“Oh my, that was… more difficult than I was expecting.” He seemed shaken.

“Everything alright?”

Aziraphale jumped. “Oh, it is spooky to hear my own voice talking to me. Um, yes, I suppose so. I had a bit of difficulty coming out and then, well, it’s a bit of squeeze to be in your body.”

“No idea what you could be talking about, but if this is a comment about the pants, you’d better get used to them, they come with the package.”

“I’m not talking about the… “ Aziraphale trailed off, attention directed to his lap when he rocketed to his feet, beet red and holding himself stiffly, so none of his limbs touched any other part of his body. Like someone who just got doused with goo on a children's game show, but flapping his hands slightly in distress. “Oh Good Lord, Crowley!” 

“What? What happened?”

The angel rolled his eyes and struggled with words, face and neck red down the visible chest of Crowley's half buttoned shirt. “Really, Crowley? I suppose I should have expected you to have working, uh, parts, being a demon and all, but… goodness gracious, two? Humans generally only have the one set of genitalia. What on earth do you need with two?”

“What? No, no I don’t. Didn’t, um,” Crowley lied, and felt his own face heating as he searched for a way out, becoming aware of his own body's lack of. “Mustuv accidentally brought yours with you.”

“ _Crowley_ , that corporation is only _hours_ old. I’ve not put any kind of effort into it. For goodness sake, it doesn’t even have nipples or a navel, yet.” 

Crowley reached up, touching his chest, stroking down it. The angel was right, smooth all down the front. He waved his hand, using a minor miracle to return his ex-body’s configuration to a more standard form. “Sorry. Sorry. I was, uh... I was having a really stressful week.” He resisted repeating that full body stroke. Wouldn’t do to take advantage, no matter how unbearably easy it would be to explore a little like this.

Aziraphale leveled him a look for a long moment before he seemed to decide to let it pass. But he just stood there, stock still and unwilling to touch anything. Crowley growled a little and stood up.

“Look I know it’s weird, I feel like we’re back in togas and gotta carry half our outfit. And speaking of outfits, why are there so many straps in all this? I knew you wore layers, but— How do you even put all this on without miracles? Wait, nevermind, I don’t wanna think about that right now... Anyway, my point is that if you wanna do this plan of yours and pass as me you’re gonna have to try and get comfortable like that. Cocky and comfortable, even.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips to a line, visibly hurt, and Crowley had no idea why, but he seemed to shake it off. “You’re right. Let’s get this ruse rolling.” 


	2. Leaking Bodies

They had done it. Fooled Heaven and hell, terrified their respective superiors, and had reunited safely. After basking in the glow of triumph they had swapped back into their own bodies, a process much quicker and easier than the first swap, though Aziraphale was still left with the unsettling feeling that he hadn’t all fit back inside his corporation, that parts of him were just... hanging out. It was rather uncomfortable, like the sneaking suspicion your trousers were unbuttoned. They’d gone to celebrate life continuing for the earth and for themselves at the Ritz, trading stories of their restored belongings and deceptive adventures, and afterwards Aziraphale wasn’t quite ready to stop celebrating. 

“My dear, I’m having a lovely time. And I know you’re probably ready to see your Bentley, whole and safe, as much as I’m looking forward to seeing my bookshop again. So, why don’t we go get the Bentley and then drive to see the bookshop together? I’m sure I had several bottles of Bordeaux that I could uncork for continued revelry.”

“That sounds  _ marvelous _ , angel! Let’s  _ revel _ !” 

Aziraphale giggled. They walked— well, Aziraphale walked, Crowley sauntered, taking up the entire sidewalk as he circled Aziraphale, smiling as they reminisced and bantered. The world felt restored, like this. Everything back as it should be, a huge weight lifted from him. Aziraphale was a little giddy at their newfound freedom. When they arrived at Crowley’s flat, the Bentley was parked outside and Crowley ran up to it and hugged it, laying over the bonnet and whispering to it. After trailing a hand over every trim and fender he finally opened the passenger’s side door and gestured to Aziraphale, who obligingly climbed in. Crowley joined him inside and ran his hands over the dash and even pressed a kiss to the top of the steering wheel.

“She even smells right. G- Sa- Someone's sake, I missed her.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, basking in the uninhibited love he felt rolling off the demon in waves. It had always been one of his favorite sensations, Crowley’s love, even when it wasn’t being directed at Aziraphale. He couldn't bring himself to complain as they went over 80 while weaving in traffic. 

The bookshop looked as it always had, as they pulled up, and Aziraphale didn’t even realize at first that he’d just left Crowley behind as he burst into his shop. It all looked safe, fine, and he thoroughly investigated every nook and cranny, every stack and shelf.

For a long while, Crowley hesitated in the doorway, just outside the threshold, eyes darting from the shop back to Aziraphale, and though it concerned the angel, he also thought it was pretty inexplicable. And he didn’t spare it too many thoughts, not when he was so busy cataloging all of his beloved books. When he’d find something new or different he’d turn with an “Oh, look Crowley!” and there he’d be, standing with his hands in his pockets in the doorway, smiling in vague interest as Aziraphale showed him every minor difference, every new book that had appeared and giving him a hum of acknowledgement. Aziraphale had no idea how long it took, but eventually he slowed his frenetic exploration, and Crowley actually entered the shop. Aziraphale smiled at him and beckoned to the back, where he settled down in his chair with a heavy sigh, and Crowley joined him on the couch.

“Oh, right, the Bordeaux I promised!” Aziraphale stood, and said, “I do hope it’s still there and unadulterated.” Crowley snickered. Aziraphale ignored him and went to fetch it. His entire wine collection rested in the basement, safe and sound as well, and he returned with two aforementioned bottles and a warm contentment settling in his chest.

Crowley, meanwhile, had apparently fetched glasses and the corkscrew before draping himself along the couch, halfway unbuttoned as usual but with his sunglasses still on. Aziraphale had always wondered if sitting like that was actually comfortable, but now that he’d lounged about in that body, he knew it wasn’t an affectation, it truly was Crowley relaxing when they were together. He uncorked and poured before resting in his chair. They settled into amenable sipping and chatting about wines, the good ones and the bad ones they’d enjoyed, briefly arguing over whether there were any merits to prosecco (there were, no matter Crowley's opposition to effervescence). They’d nearly finished the first bottle when Aziraphale had a small wave of anxiety hit. He tried to ignore it, but it was rather pernicious. 

Crowley seemed to notice, his brow wrinkling in concern. Perhaps it would be best to just ask what was on his mind? Clear the air? It was a bit of a mood killer though. Maybe not? But Crowley was starting to look perturbed and it appeared he wasn’t doing a good job at quashing it. After a small hesitation, Aziraphale decided to just address it. 

"My dear, I apologize for asking such an indelicate question, but ah…" Aziraphale paused and avoided looking at Crowley, mainly by watching his own hands wringing, "Do you… how long do you think it'll take... for me."

Crowley stared at him, dumbfounded, eyebrows raised. After a weighty pause, Aziraphale finally glanced over at him again, so Crowley added a "come on" gesture. 

"Ah, right, well… you know...to um. T-to.. To Fall. I know it's not, ah... instantaneous after transgressing."

“What are you on about, angel?” 

Aziraphale grimaced. “I know it’s not exactly a pleasant topic of conversation, but I was just hoping you might have some… insight. From the other side.”

“You’re not gonna Fall,” Crowley scoffed, waving a hand as if to brush away the idea. “You’re the best angel of the lot of ‘em.”

Aziraphale grew quiet for a moment, and when he replied it was smooth and gentle. “I’ve rebelled against Heaven, my dear boy.  _ Twice  _ now, even. It’s rather the expected outcome. But that’s alright. I’ve come to terms with it, mostly. I’m merely… well, are you familiar with the sword of Damocles? No, I don’t suppose you would, it’s more of a literary reference… Well do you remember Seneca, from Rome? Serious fellow, stoic, hung around Nero? He had a good phrase for this. ‘Expecting is the greatest impediment to living. In anticipation of tomorrow, it loses today.’ And well, I’d rather have some sort of timeline so I can keep going about and enjoying my time here with you, today.”

Crowley’s face was a mess of conflict. Anger warring with recognition and softness, back to stubbornness. Aziraphale waited in silence for Crowley to get himself sorted out. He looked like he had a lot of things he wanted to say. Which didn’t really mean he would manage to say any of them, as he well knew, but over the years he had certainly learned it was best not to rush him when he got like this. 

“Aziraphale, nn- that’s… Heaven doesn’t make you Fall. That’s  _ her  _ work, personally. Hands on, as it were.”

“I know.”

“What’d you… what do you mean _ you know _ ? How would you know? Been chatting up other demons about the worst day of their life?”

This surprised Aziraphale, and he knew he was staring at Crowley in shock, who returned an equally baffled stare.

“Sorry, my dear, I just rather thought you had to have, uh, noticed. I mean you’ve been making comments about it all these years.”

Crowley waited, impatiently, before gesturing to him to continue.

“Right. I was… Well, do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course I do. I was a snake and you hadn’t realized I was a demon yet. You were prattling on and on about how clever and interesting the humans were, them going around the garden and making up words, and names, and categorizing all of Eden. Then you tried to repeat some little story Eve had made up that you were excited about, but you botched it and then went off to mope. Next I saw you was after, on the wall.”

“Right, yes. And then on the wall we spent some time together and… then after Eden, I didn’t see you again till we ran into one another outside the ark.”

“Awful time, ark. But yeah, I remember that.”

“Well, I rather thought you’d noticed I had… changed, then. Since you made a point of teasing me about it.”

“I didn’t notice any change, angel. You looked the same to me. Different outfit… I have no idea what you thought I was teasing you about.”

“Oh.”

Crowley drained his wineglass and refilled it, pausing the bottle above Aziraphale’s glass in silent offer. Aziraphale nodded, and then gathered his freshly topped up glass, taking a sip. It helped to warm and fortify him. 

“I was… well, demoted, for lack of a better description, after Eden. I wasn't always a Principality, you know. All of the angels assigned to Eden were Cherubim, then. And I’ve come to the understanding that it was similar to—not that I’m equating it, far from it—but just that there is some, ah, resemblance. To the whole process. So, you see, I’m not exactly looking forward to Falling, but I think I’ve already been through a similar experience—well, one that is a less painful version, and have come to terms with it, as it were. As much as you can come to terms with something you know will be incredibly unpleasant and painful, that you are certainly not looking forward to, but at least I know somewhat of what to expect. Except the time-frame. It took several weeks or perhaps a few days, depending on which exactly was the clincher, so to speak, for God. Last time.”

“There is  _ no way _ you’ve Fallen before, it’s not something you do in steps, and I would have noticed if you weren’t an angel anymore” Crowley hissed. “It’s not an ambiguous experience. It’s not something you dip your toes in.”

“I  _ know  _ that, Crowley.”

“Well then what are you on about, some demotion in Heaven? Some angelic pecking order doesn’t … aren’t… Falling is… it’s.. It’s burning, and being cut and pulled apart and… the hands of god herself rending you...” he angrily stuttered out, visibly grasping for words and coming up empty.

Aziraphale let out a long sigh, drained his wine glass, and set it back down, gathering Crowley’s attention. 

“I know it’s hard for you to talk about, my dear, you don’t have to. So let me, instead, tell you about what happened to me, and you can let me know if I’m far off or not, alright?” 

Crowley nodded.

“Right. So. I was still in Eden, and word came from higher ups that Eden was being sealed. So after I had finished bricking shut the eastern gate, closing it for good after the humans had left, God spoke to me. Asked about the sword I gave away. And I… um… well I, sort of lied to her... about what happened. She didn’t say anything, and I felt just awful, so I took a walk around, you know… enjoy the verdant greenery, to try to calm down. I wandered around for a few days. It was a lot more boring without humans in there.

“And then all of a sudden I felt... Well, I felt myself being ripped out of my corporation by the hand of the Almighty herself. Just… pried out and dragged to the ethereal dimensions. Where I was held immobile… and… uh… “ Aziraphale took a slow inhale, gathering himself. He really had come to terms with the experience, but it was rather evocative, to relive and retell it to someone else. He took a moment to be grateful he was going through this, if only to spare Crowley from his likely more awful feelings about his more awful experience, before he continued.

“Then I felt... something... carve off one of my faces. It cut into me and then kept slicing deeper as something else pulled my face until it was dragged off completely. And oh, it hurt— it stung and oozed and burned. But then she did it again, and again, till I just had the one face left, and that started to burn and change and it left a … an emptiness, on top of me. Then she, uh, removed my feet and hobbled me, in the same way. And then I started feeling heat building up inside me, and it… I burned in my ichor as the essences of me started boiling. They ballooned out, bubbling all over my ethereal existence, so that parts of me were pushed out, and new things emerged where the … voids were.”

Aziraphale smoothed his hands across his front and trousers, wiping away the sweat that had broken out on his palms, soothing himself a little. “Just that the, um, boiling of myself, it… made bubbles that were rippling across me, some popped open and sprouted all these new eyes, in all sorts of strange places, but some just pushed and stretched my form. Aside from the pain and humiliation of it all,  _ that  _ made me feel pulled and molded and wrung out and a little inflated, even. I was much larger, after, and a very different kind of creature.” 

He paused, took a deep breath, and made eye contact with Crowley, who was watching, rapt, his jaw slack and eyebrows in his hairline. “It was… a most distressing series of sensations. Not all of them were painful but… I'm not sure how else to describe it. Certainly the  _ most  _ distressing thing that I’ve ever felt. And then I was falling, or rather, being dragged by Her hand again but back downwards, and jammed back into my corporation. Which, now that I was larger, didn't seem to fit anymore, so the Almighty just… compressed me until I did. At that point I rather lost consciousness. When I came to, I was convinced I had Fallen as punishment, but once I realized I was lying on the floor in Heaven that rather changed my mind. When Gabriel noticed me awake on the floor outside his office he explained I had been reassigned as a new kind of angel, a principality, and so no longer worked in Eden. I now worked under him and was to go back to Earth to watch over the new humans.” 

Aziraphale took back his wine glass, filled it, drained it, and poured himself another glass before the quiet started to chafe too much.    


“So,” Aziraphale asked, “Am I right or not? Is that not similar to Falling?”

“It’s— um, w- yeah. No. I mean, you’re right, yeah. Sorta. That’s… that’s not that different. More, um. More of the hollowness, that doesn’t go away. Nothing really fills that, after, when she removes your connection to grace. But some parts are different, in the uh, in the specifics, in the changes... Less cutting. More boiling sulfur at the end. Longer fall into it.” A tear leaked out from under Crowley’s sunglasses, and he turned his head to the side, trying to hide it, but Aziraphale had already seen it. 

“Oh, oh no, my dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve upset you. I shouldn’t have pushed you to remember.” He stood and moved to sit beside Crowley on the couch, leaning towards him but not touching, hands itching to reach out. But he hesitated, unwilling to presume touch would be welcome, not really sure what to do. 

“Angel, it’s not—” and Crowley’s voice cracked, and he stopped, swallowing. “Not that.”

Aziraphale frowned, at a loss. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up at all. I should have kept my worry to myself. I’ve ruined a lovely evening and gone and upset you, talking casually about serious things.” He was fussing, he knew, grasping at nothing and making aborted gestures while Crowley avoided looking at him. He should give him some space. Yes, that was it. “I’ll just. Let me make us some tea then? Something nice and warm. I’ll be right back.” And with that he went to the kitchen. Tea was soothing in both making and drinking. That’d help the both of them, surely.

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Crowley watched Aziraphale leave before wiping his eyes on his sleeve, righting his sunglasses and sorting himself out. Aziraphale couldn’t Fall. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Crowley would never forgive himself if he… If it was his fault… if he ruined his… Hearing him describe it in detail just made it feel  _ real _ , and  _ imminent  _ and Crowley couldn’t stand the images dancing in his head now of Aziraphale burning alive, tainted, being dragged to the pits of Hell… What would the other demons do to him? He couldn’t bear to think of it and yet visions of the horrible tortures they’d be more than happy to inflict on a newly dropped traitor kept dancing in his mind.

He’d been ribbing Aziraphale for years about giving away his sword. And the whole time he’d been reminding him of… He hadn’t known that. It was just a fond memory to Crowley, his shocking angel, so good and caring and unwilling to stand by if he could prevent suffering, nevermind the rules. Doing what he thought was right, his role be damned. 

And Aziraphale had been punished for it, and Crowley hadn’t known, he’d treated it like it was nothing but a joke, fodder for friendly banter. All these years, Crowley had been pushing, begging, tugging Aziraphale away from the bureaucracy and rigidity of Heaven, and feeling sorry for himself when Aziraphale gave only so much and no further. Aziraphale had known where the edge was and was trying so hard not to tip over, again. And Crowley had just kept needling him for more of what had drawn him to the angel in the first place. Selfishly, slowly insinuating himself in his life and tainting his pure angel. He didn’t mean to. He hadn’t—

He took his sunglasses off and stared upwards. Silently, he prayed:  _ God, I know you don’t want to hear prayers from demons, but please, I beg you, please don't punish Aziraphale if you’re angry. Punish me instead. It’s my fault, all of it. He didn’t even want to stop the apocalypse! I talked him into it. I convinced him it was a good idea. And we both know he swapped places to save me, not to save himself. You can’t… I mean, argh, of course you can. Please  _ _ don’t _ _ punish him for that. God, begging is hard! But I’m begging you here. Please. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll give up anything, just… He loves being an angel. Please don’t let him Fall because of me.  _

Overwhelmed with mixed, tumultuous emotions, Crowley briefly considered fleeing, running off to lick his wounds at his flat before Aziraphale returned. He itched to retreat, but the thought that something would happen to his angel while he was gone was enough to keep him rooted in place. Aziraphale seemed so sure that it was only a matter of time. Weighed against the feeling that his mere presence was a stain on this place, the thought of making Aziraphale face the music alone was more sickening a thought. 

What was it Aziraphale had snuck in there, before? That he wanted to “keep enjoying my time here with you.” Well then, that’s what Crowley would  _ do,  _ as long as Aziraphale wanted him here. 


	3. Things coming out of Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mind the tags this chapter

Aziraphale had been enjoying himself afterwards, trying to just forget and move past the awkwardness. And if there was one thing Aziraphale was extremely practiced at, it was pretending that he wasn’t upset in order to hide it from Crowley, and so that’s what he _did_ , till he himself forgot his worries. Crowley seemed as devoted as him to enjoying the evening, so they laughed and reminisced, drank tea, and more wine, and _more_ wine. 

Now he was _drunk_ . Not just drunk, but _drunk_ . It had been a lovely evening overall and him being wrapped up in the revelry and drunk on feeling Crowley’s love for him and too much alcohol was the only possible reason why, when there was a pause in their conversation, Aziraphale’s eyes would look Crowley up and down and his mind would whisper “you know what it feels like inside his body," even though that was a _preposterously_ misleading way of phrasing their recent… intimate exchange. Which itself was a truly unforgivable, un-angelic way of thinking! 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. _Crowley got into you, that’s what_ , His traitorous mind taunted him. _He could be again, you know, in any way you wanted._

And goodness gracious, what a thought. A thought he was too drunk to do anything about other than notice, admire, and let it go. Which was working— so far… for the most part. 

The problem was that the first time that Aziraphale encountered something it was intriguing, a novelty to be curious about. Thoughts about what it would be like to try it come and then he lets them let go. It's desirable to him, but he won’t feel _desire_ , yet. But once he has tried it he’s bitten the forbidden fruit and gained knowledge from that experience, and he can't undo that. Because he’s tried sushi before, when he sees it now he _wants_ it, he _desires_ it, he can practically feel the spicy, salty rush of wasabi and soy sauce on his tongue, his mouth watering as it longs for the cool fish and firm warm rice contrasting, melding as he chews. There's a pull there, after, and he can't go back to innocence, can't turn the dial back down on that magnetic draw, and it takes more and more effort for him to resist it, to deny himself.

His love of fine food and fabrics spawned from inescapable experiences. It wasn't as if he could walk among the humans constantly naked, and if he gradually chose nicer and nicer garments… Well Heaven certainly couldn’t fault him for having _standards_. Even the Archangel Gabriel himself had immodest taste in clothes. And of course, he couldn't be on earth for as long as he had and blend in unnoticed with the humans without _ever_ eating. And once he had, well, now it was something he _craved_.

Over the centuries he’d entertained ideas here and there about how it might be … interesting… to try out some of the other less necessary carnal pleasures of corporeal existence. He’d even attempted a few, which had graduated them into desires — nowadays he got a hand massage, a manicure, or he enjoyed a hot bath. Once or twice he had even indulged in Effortful self-pleasuring — but he really tried not to. He was an angel, after all, and that particular self-pleasure didn’t have any excuses for its necessity. He was already racking up enough vices —he couldn’t allow himself to linger on thoughts about how smooth and cool satin feels under your fingers but would instead feel warm and firm if it were the shirt on a demon that you were petting— much less test those ideas out. 

But that was the core of Aziraphale’s dilemma. Aziraphale now _knew_ what it felt like to run his hands down that waistcoat, across those thighs, to undress that body. He knew what every item of clothing the demon currently was wearing felt like as it was removed, sans his underthings. He knew the demon used silk sheets, knew how soft and smooth they were, knew he typically kept genitals equipped and two different configurations that Crowley used. Wouldn’t Aziraphale like to find out if the demon had stayed with the simpler configuration when he got his body back, or if he’d returned to the creative combination his body had first sported?

 _If you’re going to Fall anyway, there’s no need to worry about crossing that line anymore,_ his traitorous mind supplied. _You can indulge yourself all you want. Like Crowley obviously was, before you made him change his body. Don’t you want to know why he uses that particular combination of parts? Don’t you want to know what his face looks like when he touches himself?_ _Don’t you want to explore it, to know how it would feel if you took that shape?_

Oh, and that was an interesting thought. One which Aziraphale must have lingered on too long, because he felt his body shift without him consciously meaning to, manifesting the same Effort he had briefly experienced. His inhibitions must have been a lot lower than he realized.

 _Oh dear,_ he thought. He _had_ self-stimulated before, there didn't seem to be any harm in _that,_ at least… 

"Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale blinked and returned from his reverie. Crowley was leaning towards him on the couch, looking more worried than drunk. He’d nearly forgotten he was still in the same room with the demon.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. That was rude of me. I got lost in thought." 

"Yeah, your mind is clearly elsewhere." Crowley lowered himself back down, relaxing, but still watching him with furrowed brows.

Aziraphale smiled apologetically, but found his eyes drifting towards the stairs up to his flat. There was privacy upstairs. If he had his privacy he could give this new body configuration some attention. He could explore it’s contours and sensitivities… 

“Right, well,” Crowley interrupted his thoughts again. “You look like you’d like to turn in, and I could use a nap myself. Sound good?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment about correcting the demon’s misconception, but Crowley just slid down the couch till he was laying down. This did present an opportunity. Surely it would be rude of him to stop the demon from enjoying a good rest.

“Yes, I think I will. You’ll be fine here?” said Aziraphale.

“ ‘Course, yup, fine. Jus’ gonna, gonna have a nap…” and then Crowley’s face went slack. Apparently he was very good at sleeping. It would have taken hours of trying for Aziraphale to have fallen asleep like that. 

The angel watched him, pleased at how unguarded and trusting Crowley looked when asleep, letting himself feel his own love for Crowley for a while. He could always trust the demon to be considerate to a fault with Aziraphale, and give him space when he wanted it. He quietly excused himself and went upstairs to his private residence, which he almost never resided in, really, just sometimes he felt like going upstairs. It was mostly used for storing all the things he didn’t want customers to touch: his favorite first editions, his snuffbox collection, his clothing, his paperwork from Heaven, stuff like that. He did have a few comfy reading chairs upstairs, though no bed, and he stared at his favorite, internally debating still.

 _Carpe diem, as they say_ , he thought to himself. No time like the present. _Or ‘carpe corpus’ as it were._ He chuckled at his own joke.  [/sex] 

He unbuttoned his trousers and slid them from his hips, pulling his pants with them, exposing himself to the night air. He looked down, but from this angle, all he could see was a normal penis, though it layed a bit oddly without the accompanying testicles beneath it. 

Best to explore with touch, then. He reached down, running a hand along the thatch of hair and split his fingers so they rested to either side of his shaft. He pressed inward, feeling it filling with interest. He slid his hand down further, feeling the folds of the vulva underneath, it’s soft lips tingling, but it was a bit hard while standing up.

It was somewhat of an awkward arrangement. Why had Crowley chosen it? Aziraphale sat down, reaching to caress his opening and slide his fingers in. It was much easier seated than standing, and oh, that was an interesting feeling. His wrist rubbed against his shaft while his fingers explored lower. Inside was warm and wet, and he slid his fingers out, caressing his vulva with now-slick fingers. It sent a shiver of delight up his spine and made his cock throb. He pet upwards, and a bolt of pleasure struck him as he bumped a clit resting at the base of his cock. A pleasant hidden gem, that. 

He circled his clit, and the resulting rush of pleasure went straight to his cock, which stiffened the rest of the way. Aziraphale switched to caressing along the shaft with his fingers, teasing himself. _This_ he was more familiar with. Amongst the ins and outs of self-pleasuring, Aziraphale’s experiences had mainly been with the _outs_ . He gripped himself, rolling his thumb over its head and sighing, now in familiar territory, then relaxed, slumping back in his chair. He gave himself a long stroke and jolted, a moan falling from his lips as his hand bumped his clit on the way down. Another experimental stroke and, _oh, oh, that was delicious_. With each pass he hit the sensitive tip at one end, and stimulated his clit at the other. 

Another long moan escaped as he pumped, so he bit his other hand. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he had to be quiet. Crowley was just downstairs. Crowley would hear him, would come investigate, worried something was wrong and instead, see him. Catch him with his pants down, furiously masturbating, completely losing himself in a shameful display of his own indiscretions. Would Crowley like that? He certainly liked the idea of Crowley watching him. He groaned into his thumb, muffling as best he could, but he didn’t think he could stopper the sounds altogether. This configuration was marvelous. His hips lifted from the seat, slamming up into his hand, the pounding on his clit as he fucked up into his fist was too fantastic, and the need for more took over him, urging him to more powerful thrusts. 

His eyes squeezed shut and he threw his head back, panting through his nose as he sucked his fist, small whimpers coming from the back of his throat. It was so much sensation, no wonder Crowley did this to himself. Did he do it like this? Did he draw it out or did he fuck himself hard and fast?

Aziraphale slowed his motions, trying to force his hips to stop, to return to moving his hand only in long, firm strokes. He slowed his breaths, removing his hand from his face to slowly trail down his body and reach under, to bury his fingers inside his cunt. And Oh, that added another level of sensation as he fingered himself open, dripping wet. What would it feel to get fucked like this? What would it feel like to fuck Crowley like this? Would he like that? Now that they were free, on their own side, could they finally admit they loved each other? Would Crowley want Aziraphale physically? Would he at least let Aziraphale watch as he fucked himself? 

Aziraphale swore, and his hips started up again from those thoughts. A wave of euphoria rushed up from inside him and broke across his body. His hips thrust upwards with every new rush of pleasure as he came, his cunt clenching on his fingers and clear fluid dribbling down his cock till they slowed and passed, and he collapsed down bonelessly into his chair with his head hanging over the back. 

Then he realized he had made quite a bit of noise with his orgasm. A small panic rose and he tried to wipe up the mess of slickness on himself, but oh, that was interesting. His erection hadn’t gone down much, and his ejaculate was merely lubricating it more now… He gave another few experimental strokes and found that yes, it was oversensitive, but he was quite sure he could keep going and pound himself into another, even more glorious release.

Was this what Crowley used it for? He remembered Crowley’s explanation that he’d been having a stressful week and suddenly, Azirapahle understood, his mind helpfully supplying him with images of Crowley stroking himself to orgasm after orgasm, the stress melting away after he came and came from fucking himself senseless. 

Aziraphale shook himself, then miracled his genitals away and his clothes cleaned. Another time. He’d just have to wait for another time to explore that possibility, when Crowley wasn’t asleep downstairs. He buttoned himself back up, situating his clothes, and went to check in on the actual demon. 

Crowley was still asleep, thank the Lord herself, and hadn’t heard him. Aziraphale decided it was probably safest to sober up and stay downstairs, in order to resist more moments of personal exploration. He should also probably talk to Crowley when he woke up, about what it meant to be on their side, and perhaps discuss some of the thoughts Aziraphale had about their relationship. The urge to touch Crowley reared hard, even now that he was sober. He wanted to cradle his cheek, run his hand down that torso, explore what was between his legs. 

Aziraphale shook his head to clear it, mentally chiding himself. He left to sit in the front of the bookshop, far away from temptation, and picked up the nearest book. He read it until the morning, getting lost and pleasantly distracted. When it was time, he opened the shop and checked on the demon. 

Crowley was still asleep, half-hanging off the couch and limbs akimbo, having rolled over quite a lot in his sleep. It brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face, and he returned to reading. After a while a customer came in, gave Aziraphale an odd look, and then disappeared in the stacks.

Come noon he heard a noise coming from the back and looked up from his book. Crowley was yawning in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He smacked his lips and mumbled, “Thirsty.”

“Would you like a cup of tea dear? Or I suppose you’re more of a coffee drinker in the mornings. I can make you coffee, if you’d like.”

Crowley blinked at him for a second, then turned as the customer walked past to leave the shop. Crowley’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“You opened the shop?”

“Yes. It was time, and you were asleep.”

“No but… Aziraphale your wings are out. And you opened the shop.”

“What?” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed and he glanced over his shoulder, but saw nothing. “They are not! You’re trying to trick me and I don’t think that’s funny at all.”

“ ‘M not! I wouldn’t lie to you! Your wings _are_ out. Just not the big ones, the uh...” Crowley moved his hand to the side of his face, making little finger-guns pointing out from his ears. “The other ones.” He wiggled his pointer fingers.

Aziraphale clapped his hands to the sides of his face and yep, there they were. His little secondary wings, which sprouted behind his ears and fluttered back and out, were here in the corporeal realm. 

“Oh good Lord Almighty!” Deep embarrassment filled him and he leapt from his chair. He tried to pull them back into the aether but for some reason, they seemed stuck. “Oh dear, I’d better—” He snapped, locking the shop and flipping the sign to “closed.” 

“I didn’t even know you had other wings.” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale patted down the rest of himself, assuring him that nothing else was showing unintentionally, and gave a small relieved sign when he found nothing. Now that he knew they were there, he felt his little wings drooping in relief as well. 

“This is terribly embarrassing,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t even know when they manifested, I didn’t notice them…” How did his wings come out without him noticing? He remembered his night with it’s strange and overwhelming sensations and blushed so hard his face burned with the intensity of it. He must have come so hard they’d popped out, and the thought Crowley might realize that was mortifying. 

“Oh no, it’s alright, don’t be upset. Look,” and Crowley pointed to his own head, where a pair of small wings shimmered out of the aether to sprout from the corners of his jawbone. “See? It’s okay.”

“Oh. You too? Yours are a slightly different placement than mine, aren’t they?” Aziraphale’s brows drew down in thought. “Those seem familiar… Did you show them to some Roman soldiers?”

Crowley grinned, his little wings perking up straight “Yes! Good on you to remember them! They designed a helmet and a mask after me. Thought I was the god Mercury. Got rather popular for a while there. I’m a trendsetter. I take it you were similarly behind the Vikings?”

Aziraphale hummed and nodded. “I once delivered a holy vision in person to a talented artist and after he became quite smitten with my likeness. Wrote songs about my beauty and started drawing me as his muse. Eventually he started making the hats and well, they rather caught on, didn’t they?” His little wings fluttered in pleasure as he gave a full body wiggle. “I was very flattered.” 

They shared a grin. It made Crowley’s little wings fan out wide to each side of his head. It was adorable and so expressive. 

“I’m curious,” Aziraphale said. “You must have had a rank, well… um, you know, before. “

Crowley made a sour face, his wings drawing back against his head. “Nothing special, really.”

“You must have been. Run-of-the-mill angels only have the one pair.”

Crowley furtively looked around the room and twiddled his grey necktie thing. “ ‘S nothing. Just, uh. Used to be a seraph.”

“ _Did_ you?” Aziraphale gasped, impressed and shocked simultaneously. 

“Y- yeah.” Crowley said, and then looked up at Aziraphale. He growled and rolled his eyes, his small wings twitching in annoyance. “Don’t make this a _thing_ , please?” 

“Alright, alright, you don’t need to be so dramatic. Just out of curiosity, where are your third pair? I’ve never seen a seraph on this plane of existence.”

At this, Crowley winced. “They um… they’re gone. Lost ‘em in the Fall. Used to be at the hips, not anymore. Feels weird with ‘em gone.” He wiggled his hips from side to side. 

“Oh! Oh no, I’m dreadfully sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Nah, I understand. I’d never met a principality before the war, had no idea they’d have secondaries, either.”

“Well, neither had I. I do believe my demotion made me the first one, and I had two pair before, so the others may or may not.”

“Huh. How many others are there now?”

“Funny you should mention that. I’ve never _actually_ met another principality. I mean, I assume God must have made others, but, well.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Ineffable.”

Crowley scoffed. "Don't start with that."

Aziraphale just grinned at him. He tried to retract his little wings again but still couldn’t seem to manage. “Oh bother.” Crowley hummed in question. “My wings. They seem to be stuck and I can’t put them back out of sight.” 

Crowley frowned. “That’s strange. Has it ever happened before?”

“No,” he replied, gravely. “It has not. It’s rather distressing, losing control over a part of one’s body. I’m feeling rather exposed at the moment.”

Crowley nodded. “How about I nip out, get my own coffee, maybe a spot of lunch to bring back here. Make a day of it here together till you sort it out?” 

“That sounds lovely, my dear, thank you. Don't forget to put your own wings away.”

Crowley's little wings shimmered and were gone, “Right, don't go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

“I'll do my best to." Crowley frowned, but it really wasn't up to them when he'd Fall, so Aziraphale put on a bright smile for him. "Mind how you go.” 

Crowley hesitated, but Aziraphale just kept smiling at him. With a final nod, Crowley left. 

While he was gone Aziraphale paced, praying that when he Fell, he wouldn't be alone, that Crowley could be with him. He kept trying to retract his wings and still wasn't able to, though he tried pulling his big wings out and in, and that went without issue. He brought his wings out again and then he could put the little ones away, but not the big ones. He heaved a sigh. Well at least these he was more comfortable showing. They weren’t as expressive, and things weren’t like they were back in Heaven, before the war, when everyone could wear their every feeling on the outside. It was unsafe now to let others know that much about you. 

Aziraphale gave a small, private smile. Crowley had so quickly shared the same vulnerability like it was nothing, and it had been nice to be vulnerable with him. 

He shook himself from his small reverie and back to the matter in front of him— well behind him, his wings. Why was he spilling out into this plane of existence? Oh, that _was_ what was going on, wasn’t it. He couldn’t fit back into his dratted body anymore. He _knew_ that he’d felt like part of him wasn’t fitting inside after their body swap. He tsked and settled into the backroom, his wings hitched up and over the back of his chair, to wait. He’d have to do some brainstorming later, maybe ask Crowley for some ideas on how to fix it.

It wasn’t much longer at all before Crowley returned, and Aziraphale could feel his chest unclenching with his arrival. 

“I brought you tea!” Crowley said, hefting his bags and setting them on the table. With a snap, they changed to a full three-tiered queen’s tea service, the only part left unchanged was Crowley’s coffee, which he picked up and sipped out it’s paper cup as he slouched back on the couch. 

“Oh, that looks scrumptious! Thank you, Crowley.” He chose a finger sandwich and poured himself a cup, then tucked in, sighing with happiness as he snacked and sipped. Crowley watched him enjoy himself with his usual intense stare, sipping his own beverage and munching on a single scone. As Aziraphale ate they idly chatted of meals past, debating the merits of long-dead cuisines. Then they settled into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company as they nursed their respective beverages. 

Suddenly, bright light flooded the room, blinding them. Aziraphale shaded his eyes but looked upwards, trying to see where it was coming from. 

Crowley started hissing and Aziraphale realized the light was in fact, The Light, with its distinctly holy feel. The Almighty had come for him, but it was hurting Crowley. Aziraphale jumped to his feet, panicked.

"Crowley!" he screamed out, and tried to go to him, to shade him from the holiness with his wings as he gasped and seized, limbs jerking wildly. 

Before Aziraphale could move more than a single step, Crowley rose chest first off the couch, floating in midair near the ceiling for a flicker of a moment. Then, like his strings had been cut, he crashed to the ground, hitting the furniture and floor with a horrible crack. The light cut out, the holy presence gone as well. 

Aziraphale rushed to him, his arm and leg clearly broken by the fall. "Oh Lord!" He cried, sobbing. A quick healing miracle and the bones knitted themselves back together as Aziraphale gathered him up in his arms, clinging to him. 

"Crowley? Please, please Crowley, please," he begged, clutching and shaking the demon. There was no response. He hugged his wings around them and tried to use a miracle to wake him, but that's when he realized it.

Crowley wasn't there anymore. He was left holding an empty corporation. There wasn't a trace of the demon inside of it for his miracles to work on. Just a whiff of burning and holiness had been left behind. 

Aziraphale dropped to his knees, pressing his face into what was left of Crowley, weeping and begging. 

"Please God, no, not Crowley! Don’t take Crowley! Please, oh Lord Almighty please don't take him from me, I'm sorry, I'll do anything you want, but please, please give him back please, he didn't do anything so terrible, did he? He doesn’t deserve to be obliterated. He doesn’t deserve… Take me instead! I did it, I deserve punishment! Not Crowley, God, no, please, please no…" his shoulders shook as he sobbed, hunching over as his tears began pouring out of him. He prayed with all his angelic might, silently and out loud, babbling to God and rocking back and forth as he wept.

There was no reply, just Crowley's empty corpse beneath him.

He felt something inside him crack, right inside his core being. It hurt so bad his wings flared out, knocking over things in his cramped backroom, but he couldn't have cared less. They trembled as he wailed his sorrow out, his hands fisted in black clothing. 

Nothing changed. God didn’t help him. Aziraphale threw his head back and screamed a keening wail, his grief a crushing pressure inside him, straining at his cracked edges. He shattered, cutting his cry short as his ethereal body burst into this reality. Thousands of eyes flooded the room, all weeping, flying outwards. 

Then all was darkness as he lost consciousness, falling face first on top of Crowley's body in the wreckage of their lunch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am evil monster of a fic writer. 😈 
> 
> Next chapter is already written, just needs edited, so I won't leave it on this cliffhanger for long, I promise.


	4. Destroying Bodies

Beelzebub had been having a shit week. Shittier than usual, all they’d done was run around putting out fires both literal and figurative as they tried to get all of Hell calmed down and back to work, having been thwarted from achieving Hell's dominion over the earth and Heaven in the apocalypse. They were exhausted and trying to have a quiet moment to themselves in their office when there was pounding on their door. 

"Go away!" they snapped. 

"Lord Beelzebub, it's important. Something’s happening on earth!"

They snarled, flinging themselves at the door and ripping it open. "What now?" 

Dagon was standing there, wide-eyed and slightly panicked. "Demons are coming down all the exits, raving about being attacked by holy water. 

"WHAT? Satan save me— gather them all up at the main entrance, right now. I'll sort this out."

Dagon and their secretary scrambled off. Beelzebub took a moment in their office to calm their nerves and let the lesser demons time to work before heading out. They stomped all the way to the main entrance, where there were nearly fifty agitated demons milling about.

“Alright, Alright! Shut it, all you shit-stained failures, shut it!” They waited for the demons to quiet down, then continued, “Which of you pustulent skid marks can tell me what’s going on?” A commotion of too many voices started up. “SHUT IT! You!” they pointed to a random weak looking demon. “Explain yourself.”

“I was chased by Heaven! An angel wielding holy water! I fled here, but they stopped at the elevator.”

“What did the angel look like?”

The weak-looking demon fidgeted, “Well, you see, um… It wasn’t the whole angel. Just their eye.”

“An eye?”

The weak demon nodded. Beelzebub pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed. 

“Let me get this straight. One single eye just showed up out of nowhere, with holy water, and chased you till you retreated to hell.”

The demon nodded. 

“Anyone have a different, less pathetic, story?” Blinks and empty looks all around, no one else spoke up. “Right. You pissant twat-waffles, line up and wait here. I’ll go and see for myself. Dagon, you're with me.”

Together they got on the escalator going up. Nothing about the ride was different at all, everything looked typical and empty of angels. Beelzebub scoffed. Whatever little eyes were scaring the minions, they weren’t afraid. They held their hand up and summoned hellfire to their palm. If an angel wanted a fight Beelzebub would bring it. 

They reached the landing, and stepped to the end of it with Dagon behind them, still nothing and no one that they could see. Tentatively, Beelzebub stepped into the room. 

Reality bent around them, slicing open in a hundred wounds. Each slice began to warp, opening a rift in reality to some sort of white void, some the size of a finger and some several feet long.

Beelzebub froze, and they heard Dagon give a small gasp. The rifts surrounded them on every side but the escalator, even the air above them and on the floor. 

As the rifts opened wider, circles of varying colors appeared and slid to the center, and…

“Satan save us, those are  _ eyes _ ?!” 

All the eyes focused on Beelzebub and blinked, pulling and tearing at reality more as they did. 

“Right, fine. Dagon, call more hellfire.” Once they both had as much as their hands could hold, Beelzebub took a step forward, ready to throw. 

The eyes watched them as they moved, and as soon as they stepped away from the escalator the eyes blinked and began to cry. They could feel the tears radiating holiness. Obviously they were made of holy water, the Holiest, most potent kind. Beelzebub aimed at the nearest eye and flung some hellfire. It connected, obliterating the eye, but all the others started blinking and crying harder, which only aerosolized the holy tears, filling the entire space with a fine, holy water mist. 

Beelzebub and Dagon both screamed and dove for the escalator, rolling far enough down it to be safe. As if crept them back upwards they stayed crouched, low to the ground. 

The eyes were all still there, and a new one had opened where the one they’d obliterated had been, this one twice as large. The room was starting to fill with a puddle of holy water and it was dripping towards the escalator.

“Run! Run down, now!” Beelzebub said. “Fuck, this is a lot worse than I thought.” They both turned tail and ran against the escalator’s direction as holy water ran over, flooding down the stairs in a steady trickle. It took longer than normal, but they reached the bottom and got off. 

Behind them, the trickle reached Hell. Chaos exploded amongst the waiting underlings as they fled in terror from it. 

“Halt, you cowardly fucks! Get shovels and rocks and whatever and barricade this escalator, right now! We can’t let that into hell! Dagon, gather the troops, we’re under siege by Heaven!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a creatively vulgar Beelzebub, they are just so done with life. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is short, but I should have another up very soon!


	5. Bodies in the aether are not Bodies in the material realm

When Aziraphale came to the first thing he noticed was that he was still weeping. Though his tears should have long run dry, he could feel them dripping down his face. He scrubbed at them, rubbing his eyes. The room felt like it was swimming. Something was very wrong with him, he realized as he struggled to sit up, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. When he finally opened his eyes he was looking down at Crowley's lifeless husk. 

"Oh my dear, my love." He brushed his knuckles along Crowley's jaw, swept his hair back from his face. "I can't just leave you like this…" he choked, and swallowed the sob threatening to take over. 

_ I can’t leave what's left of you like this. _

He gently pulled Crowley so all of his body was back up on the couch, settling him on his back and folded his hands across his chest. It was a long and difficult process, because Aziraphale felt weaker than he ever had, barely managing simple movements and seemingly dead from the waist down. When he finished, he patted Crowley’s shoulder, as if to say “there there, all better” and looked at him. He looked peaceful, at least. There was no pain in those features, just emptiness in his expression. Didn’t the humans say it was like they were sleeping? But no, when Crowley slept he looked slack, lazy. He made little snores and smiles and frowns, sometimes drooling a bit. Crowley was still  _ alive  _ when he was asleep. Even when he stopped breathing, he still exuded Crowley.

This… leftover... looked as dead as it was. Mouth closed, eyes closed, a neutral expression on the rest. Pliant, but limp. There was nothing left of Crowley here but his outline. Aziraphale folded his arms and laid his head down on them beside the body, sniffling and weeping quietly. His wings hovered over them before settling down over them both in a weak embrace, limp as the rest of him. 

Remaining conscious became a problem. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he was floating, and none of his body would respond to his commands anymore. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t, but he could sense things around him in an ethereal way. That made him realize he’d discorporated again, completely without meaning to, with just a weak tether between his body and himself. He supposed he could try to cram back inside, but he didn't see the point. At least floating in the aether was quiet and dark, and didn’t contain the body of his best friend. Whatever was wrong with him was more apparent here, since he felt as broken literally as his heart was. Pieces of himself were unconnected from the rest, which itself was unfolded, cracked, and strung out, like he’d been a balled-up doily that had been stretched out, torn and partially unraveled. 

He paid it no mind. There was a burning sensation a few times coming from … somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, and he knew that some pieces of him were gone, but nothing mattered anymore. If he was burned out of existence, at least he’d be together with Crowley. 

He floated there for a long time when The Light came back, appearing as suddenly and without warning as before, blindingly bright even in the aether. He turned towards it, and in this dimension he could see the hand of God coming down towards him, curled into a fist. 

_ Ah, finally _ , he thought.

But no, there was something in God’s hand. It reached past him, beneath him, and then pulled away. God left and he was returned to darkness. He resumed his grieving, but after a while he noticed he wasn’t alone. There was some other, seemingly unfamiliar presence floating in the aether near him. It was as ragged and massive as he was, but seemed to pulse with a dark energy. He moved towards it, trying to brush against it to find out what it was. 

_ Crowley _ !

It was Crowley, no mistake. Aziraphale would recognize him no matter the form change, even this rather drastic one. Before, the demon had not radiated anything, and had been small, like a normal demon or angel, but now… Aziraphale reached as best he could, trying to gather his demon close, but Aziraphale was full of holes and gaps and nothing moved like he meant, and when he managed to touch Crowley he found the demon’s ethereal form had the same problem. Fumbling, he managed to intertwine their spaces, wrapping them together a little, but that was all.

Time to leave the aether. He pulled himself back into his body by the tether, a strangely arduous process now. He only managed to put one fragment of himself in there, but it was enough of him to open his eyes. His head felt like it was made of lead, but he lifted that to look up.

Crowley’s eyes were closed and he was in the same position Aziraphale had posed him in, but he was  _ there _ . His chest moved with weak little huffs, and his face was screwed up in pain. 

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley, you’re back! Oh thank you, God, Thank you so much.” He tried to reach out to Crowley, but his arms weren’t working. He called Crowley’s name a few times, but the demon didn’t respond. Tears were still falling from Aziraphale, though now they were tears of joy and profound gratitude. 


	6. Inexplicable Bodies

Beelzebub had tried one other entrance, this time with as much stealth as a demon made of flies could achieve, but the same thing happened the moment they stepped away from the escalator. They’d even tried to burrow up and out on their own, away from an entrance, but the moment their head broke free the eyes showed up  _ attached  _ to their  _ body _ , one opening right on the lapel of their jacket and another on their trousers, and they fled before the crying started and annihilated them completely. 

Whatever this new weapon Heaven had deployed, it had effectively grounded all demons in Hell. Dagon and the other Dukes had scheduled patrol rotations and guards on all entrances, no matter how minor or rarely used, as well as regular check-ins. The main entrance had stopped flooding, but a small pond of holy water still lay at it’s base. They’d released a memo, warning all demons to flee if the eyes showed up, especially if they showed up on their body. It was barely necessary, as every pissant demon that had been on earth apparently had bugger-all to do but gossip like the loose lipped gits they were, so now the rumor mill had even more horrifying nonsense flying in it and Hell was in shambles, again. 

Dagon had even taken a head count and apparently, they were short one demon, but once they’d gone down the rolls, it was only the traitorous… whatever he was now, Crowley. Which, of course he hadn’t fled, seeing as he was immune to holy water. 

Briefly, Beelzebub toyed with the idea of sending him new orders to work on this problem from his end, but decided against it. Who knew what that traitor would do with the info? There was a lot of good and evil one could get up to knowing that all of Hell was under siege, terrified and unable to retaliate. It wasn’t worth the risk. 

Satan himself hadn’t deigned to offer any help, via orders or otherwise, so it was up to them to figure this out as the Prince of Hell. So, they tracked down Hastur in a quiet hallway corner for a chat. 

“I need you to use your… contacts.” They swallowed their disgust and curled their lip. “See if you can find out what they know, and if they’re willing to…” they retched. “Negotiate.”

Hastur spat, then said, “Yes, sir.”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Michael had not been expecting a call, but she was in the privacy of her office, so she took it. It was one of the demons she had contacted through back-channels. 

“Hatter, was it?”

“HAStur.”

“Hastur, then. What can I do for you?”

“The boss wants to know what you’re willing to say.”

Michael cocked her head, blinking and looking at her phone before putting it back to her ear. “What’s this about, then?”

“Your weapon.”

“What weapon?”

“Now that’s interesting, isn’t it? She asked what weapon.” Michael heard several swear words and a grumpy reply she couldn’t make out. “Boss wants to know if you archies issued orders to attack demons.”

“No, the war was temporarily called off.” She’d only just gotten the soldiers to give up trying yesterday, by having them run drills with the non-soldiers and pairing everyone in Heaven up, but she wasn’t going to tell Hell that. “There shouldn’t be any angels with attack orders, for the moment.”

More harsh words she couldn’t make out, then “Right. Well then you might want to know you have a rogue on your hands. There’s been holy water attacks, and Hell is going to retaliate if they’re not stopped.” And then the click of being hung up on. Hell didn’t believe in politeness and always had to be the one to hang up, so Michael knew it was coming, but it still ruffled her feathers. 

This sounded serious. Without further ado, she assembled the other archangels in the meeting room. 

“We have a problem,” Michael opened. “Some renegade angel is attacking Hell with holy water.”

Frowns and groans all around.

“Who’s lost their buddy?” Gabriel demanded. 

“I told you that system would never contain the Wrath of Heaven,” Sandalphon added. 

“No one has reported losing their buddy and drills have been operating normally,” said Uriel.

“Well someone has to be missing. We should go investigate,” said Michael.

“Yes, let’s go see for ourselves,” said Gabriel. Sandalphon nodded.

“I’ll go double check our assigned angels in Heaven,” said Uriel.

They broke apart, with Gabriel, Sandalphon and Michael heading to the main entrance to earth. Nothing looked amiss as they rode down the escalator, but when they stepped off it and into the room, everything changed. Reality warped around them, breaking apart in slashes in every direction sans the elevator, thousands of tears of various sizes. They opened, revealing slices of a black emptiness marred by tiny pinpricks of light, a void that radiated darkness as it invaded the reality around them, dimming their perceptions. 

The archangels froze. 

“What the…” Gabriel said.

“What in Heaven’s name  _ is  _ all this?” Michael said. 

Then, a spinning sphere of fire rolled to the center of each slash, turning them to burning eyes made of stars and void, all focused on the angels, looking at them. New slices formed in the background, these ones white with brown, blue and green eyes, all staring.

Nothing moved. 

“This is  _ not  _ an angel. This must be a trap sent by Hell. Those eye…  _ things  _ are clearly evil,” said Gabriel. 

“You can’t trust those demons. They tricked us with false information,” said Michael.

“I’ll destroy whatever this is,” said Sandalphon, who then snapped, and his battle gear appeared on him.

The burning eyes blinked, pulling at reality in a sickening lurch, and threw out flares of hellfire plasma from their spinning balls of fire. They blinked again and it hit the flares, breaking them up, ejecting bursts of hellfire and scattered sparks of it out, filling the air and setting fire to most of the room. Gabriel manifested his wings and beat them, trying to blow the sparks away, but it just stirred them up chaotically, and the blinking sped up, sending even more clouds of hellfire into the room. The Archangels fled as one, retreating to the escalator going up. 

They all stared, wide eyed and panicked as the stairs slowly drew them away from the conflagration. 

“What  _ was  _ that?” Michael said, their voice low and breathy.

“Hell must have some new weapon. Is it following us?” asked Gabriel.

They all peered down, but saw nothing but a few stray motes. When they reached the top, they moved back to the down escalator, ready for attack this time. But the eyes were still there, and the whole room was filled with a blazing inferno of hellfire. Michael snapped, miracling them all back to the safety of Heaven. 

“I don’t think it’s Hell. If they had this power they would have used it by now. And they asked me about  _ our  _ weapon. They think it’s us,” said Michael. 

“Why would demons think we’d send hellfire after them as a weapon,” said Gabriel.

“They didn’t, remember? They said it was holy water. Perhaps for demons, it is.” 

Uriel joined them, carrying the list of angels and their partners. “All angels present and accounted for. No one is missing, and they’re all in Heaven,” she said

“Well who is Hell talking about, a rogue angel,” Gabriel said.

“There is one angel on earth at the moment. Aziraphale.”

Gabriel sneered. “That abomination.”

“Could he be doing… that?” said Michael

“Who knows? There’s never been anything like him before. He can breathe hellfire, and is clearly dangerous,” said Sandalphon.

“Let's check the other entrances, see if they are clear.”

They broke apart, Uriel keeping watch on the main entrance while the others checked the rest, but when they returned it was all bad news. None of the ways out of Heaven were clear. They argued about what to do. Sandalphon wanted to muster their forces, make a charge with holy water and take out the hellfire, but the rest were against the risk, unwilling to reduce the angelic host’s numbers before they finished their war with Hell. Otherwise, they had no idea what to do. 

“I should at least let Hell know that it’s not us. They’re considering retaliation. The last thing we need is more problems,” said Michael.


	7. Incorporating Broken Ethereal Bodies

Crowley started to sweat and mumble. Aziraphale had struggled to incorporate more of his essence into his body and eventually was successful, regaining shaky control of his limbs. This allowed him to mop the sweat from Crowley’s brow, and cup a hand to his cheeks while telling him that everything was okay now, they were here together and Aziraphale would get this sorted out. 

Which he said repeatedly, over the course of the evening, for his own benefit as well as the possibility that Crowley could hear him. When midnight came, Crowley groaned. 

“I’m right here, my dear. Are you coming around?”

“... nnnn …. no...” Crowley said, frowning.

“Please be a dear and open your eyes. I..” Aziraphale’s voice cracked and a small whimper came out. “I would appreciate it.” 

Crowley cracked an eye open, its slit pupil contracting rapidly as he winced, and then the second eye followed. 

Aziraphale glowed, heart bursting with the insurmountable joy and relief that he couldn’t contain. “There you are. I’m so very glad you're back.”

“Mmmmm.”

“I thought.” Even though he was trying to hold himself together, now that it was over he was struggling, so his tears started up again, “I thought you were gone.”

“Mmmm. Me too.”

“What happened?”

“Remember...um… what you dessscribed earlier? With your demotion?”

“Yes.”

Crowley’s eyes slid closed in concentration. “C… Can’t ssseem to move. Why can’t I move?”

“I had a similar difficulty earlier. If yours is like mine, you need to try and draw more of your essence into your corporation to get it functioning again.”

“Ssssssshe could have at leassst ssssmassssshed enough back in,” he hissed. 

“She?”

“Yeah. I think God jussst promoted me.”

“Oh?”

“Going by your account, think I’m a prinsssipality now... Or whatever the demonic equivalent isss… Why am I so holey? Not holy holy but … why’s there holesss. I’m all... lacy... now. Are there pieces of me that aren't connected anymore?”

“Probably. I appear to be in a similar state. Best not to think about it.”

Crowley snorted. “ ‘Course you’d say that, angel.” One arm shakily lifted, and Aziraphale took it between his own. 

“You’re improving, see? Soon you’ll be up and about again.” Aziraphale said, mostly to reassure himself.

“When’d you grow the new eye?”

“The what?”

“Eye. On your cheekbone.”

Aziraphale let go of his demon’s hand to feel around his own face, and sure enough there was a third eye on one cheek. “I have no idea. How strange.”

“That one’s greener than your usual. I like it. It's weird but pretty.” 

“Oh, well then. That makes everything alright.”

“Sarcasm becomes you,” Crowley said with a smile, the first since he’d come back. Aziraphale returned it and pulled him into a hug.

They remained in their embrace for a long time, Aziraphale holding his demon as they struggled to pull themselves together, both physically, ethereally and emotionally. Crowley lifted an arm to wrap it around Aziraphale, patting him on the back. Occasionally, Aziraphale got tired and rested his forehead against Crowley’s, sharing his breath with their eyes closed, murmuring his apologies while Crowley dismissed them. It took an excessively long time, but eventually they had regained enough bodily function to pull themselves up onto the couch and sit upright together, leaning against the other’s side.    
  
“I’ve never known sitting to be so much effort. I’ve worked up quite an appetite, but I don’t think I could manage to lift a fork at the moment.” 

Crowley grunted and turned to make tired eye contact. “I know what you mean. I’d love to sleep this off but…” he turned back away, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I, um… am having rather… unbecoming feelings... about being unconscious, so I’d like to not, for a while.”

Aziraphale’s chest clenched. “I think I share your feelings about that particular prospect. When I felt you… leave me… I, uh” he swallowed a few times, and his eyes misted, “I felt the touch of holiness and all that was left here was an empty body, so I thought the worst had occurred.” Tears did spill this time. “I don’t think I could go on without you and when I thought I’d have to…”

“No, oh no no no, angel.” Crowley reached between them and gathered up their hands together, rubbing gently over the back of Aziraphale's in soothing circles. “I’m here, it’s okay now.” Crowley brow was furrowed and earnest.

“It’s... I just... I love you very deeply, my dear.” Aziraphale surprised himself with how easy it was to say, in the moment, the thing he’d thought and felt for the last century but always crushed the words in his teeth, always refusing to voice them. After, he felt the familiar anxiety rearing up, choking him and he started trembling. 

Crowley’s motions halted, though he kept their hands together. 

“I’m sorry, old habits.” Aziraphale took a deep sign and tried to relax, turning his hand to interlace his fingers with Crowley’s. “It’s hard to let go of the fear.”

Crowley grunted. “Still nice to hear you say it.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Oh, I do hope so, as I intend to tell you regularly.” 

Crowley crooked a smile back at him, and Aziraphale felt love pouring off his demon. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand, and Crowley turned to press a kiss into Aziraphale’s hair. 


	8. Paired bodies

A letter miraculously appeared in Heaven, addressed to Gabriel and smelling of rotten eggs. The angel that found it and delivered it carried it far away from them, pinched loosely, for it was also mysteriously moist. Gabriel, upon reception, wrinkled his nose at it, and carefully opened it as far from his body as he could manage, which was a good instinct, as dried dung fell out and scattered around the room. With a wave it disappeared, a mild nuisance, and he read the letter out loud to the other Archangels who waited nearby.

“To the wanker of all wa- … Anyway,” he cleared his throat and kept reading, “Hell would like you to know we are not responsible though we are happy you are struggling. However, seeing as we have our own problems, we suggest a joint, supervised venture. If you send one (1) angel, we will send one (1) demon. We think we have discovered a way onto earth for them, but we could be wrong. Haven't tested it. If yes, have Michael call us. If no, please shove your fist so far up your asshole that you feel it when you blink.” 

“Quite an... interesting image,” said Sandalphon. 

“Are we interested?” said Michael. “In the joint venture, obviously.”

“Could be valuable information,” said Uriel.

“Could be a suicide mission,” said Gabriel. 

They paused, mulling, Gabriel tapping his foot. 

Sandalphon was the first to break the silence. “Even if it is a suicide mission, it would probably take out the demon as well. Same loss for either side. If we send angels alone, we risk losing them and changing the balance of power.”

“As a joint venture, we would immediately know the intel gathered. If we turn them down, they might just try without us, and then they’ll have more vital information than us. That’s also a big risk,” said Gabriel.

“We’ll have to ask for volunteers,” said Michael.

“I don’t think that will be a problem. There are several… feisty angels who aren’t settling down from their war footings who would jump at the chance,” said Uriel.

“Well then, it sounds like we have a plan. Uriel and Sandalphon, find a volunteer, but make sure it’s someone we can trust to not attack a demon unprovoked. Gabriel and I will go to the Earth Observation Room and make sure everything is carefully monitored. Then I’ll call Hell and make the appropriate arrangements.”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Beelzebub’s phone rang, a half-rotten antique wooden thing that made a grinding noise instead of a bell. They answered it by screeching a horrific buzzing noise into the receiver.

“... Right. This is Michael.”

Beelzebub grinned. Exactly who they’d thought it would be. “Beelzebub. You got an answer, then?”

“We’ll partake in this joint venture. When would you like to embark?”

Beelzebub snorted and silently mimicked the word “embark.” They horked, loudly, right into the phone and heard the noise of disgust from Michael they’d been hoping to evoke. It was nice to vent some of their frustration on an angel. “One hour, main lobby.”

“Agree—” and Beelzebub hung up right before Michael could finish. They got up and left their office, steering to where the demons were guarding the entrances. They inspected their troops, looking for a weak, pathetic looking demon, but one not so stupid that they’d fuck their orders up. This might be suicidal, but it was an important mission. 

Finally they found them, a set of triplets, two of which had been recently discorporated during Armageddon. They walked up to the one who had a body still and jabbed them for their attention.

The disposable demon spun, it’s weird little hair horns bobbing as it did and terror took over it’s features. “B- Beelzebub, sir, H- hello! What can I d- do for you, Mast- Prince! Sir?”

“New orders. Follow me.” 

The disposable demon hesitated and made eye contact with his discorporated siblings but he nevertheless followed when Beelzebub turned and left. Together they went to the main entrance, where Dagon was patrolling in battle armor. 

“Any changes?” Beelzebub asked the Duke of Hell. 

“None.”

“Right.” They turned to the disposable demon. “You’re going up there. Alone.”

The demon broke into a sweat and started visibly shaking, “Wha- What? But that's holy water!”

Impatient, Beelzebub snarled, “You still have your wings, you whinging mincemeat, you can fly over it, or I’ll grind you up and then throw what's left in myself.”

The demon cowered, “Yes, your Imminence.” 

Dagon intervened. “Here. Take this device. It will record any sounds nearby and send them to us. Please describe your surroundings at all times and any changes in them. We will be instructing you, as it will also convey our voices to you.” She handed over a small black box with one glass side. 

“Right, a Mobile, got it.”

Dagon looked slightly impressed. “Yes, good, you’ve been keeping up with the mortals. You will be working with an angel. Don’t attack OR provoke them, do you understand?”

“Yes, your disgrace.”

“Good. Now, it’s a mess up there, and there may be holy water, but I expect you to complete your mission even if at great personal cost, or else you’ll spend the rest of eternity being tortured so thoroughly you’ll beg for a dip in holy water instead, do you understand?” As she talked, Dagon started showing more and more of her sharp, shiny teeth, until the rictus of a smile at the end let them fully flash, venom and ichor dripping from them. 

The disposable demon cowered further, coiling down on himself in a hunched bow, “Yes ma’am, of course, I will serve well, your Disgrace.”

“Excellent,” said Beelzebub. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Artiyael was tired of dodging. It had been their life since Armageddon didn’t happen and the Archangels had pulled him away from comforting newly arrived human souls to follow around Shaddail and keep her from storming off to destroy things. This meant that when she swung her holy lance about, ranting about war this or war that, Artiyael was forced to dodge and duck in order to not be skewered himself, and then distract the other angel long enough that she’d stop swinging her weapon wildly. It was most tedious. 

But then, Uriel had arrived, talking to the paired angels milling about, needing volunteers for a mission to earth. Shaddail had leapt at the chance, quite literally, jumping and swinging her weapon about as she begged to be given the opportunity for a fight. Uriel had demurred, unfortunately, saying she needed a different kind of operative.

“I’ll volunteer,” Artiyael blurted out. He didn’t know what the operation was, but anything to get away from babysitting this warmongering angel was likely better.

Uriel looked him up and down. “Artiyael. You were made to comfort the grief-stricken.” Artiyael tilted his head in acknowledgement. Uriel looked pensive. “This mission has a high risk of encountering hellfire. You will be risking your destruction.”

Artiyael had almost been stabbed by a blessed weapon twice in the last hour. “That’s acceptable.”

Uriel grabbed him by the arm and led him off to the side, away from any other angels. They leaned in and in a low voice said, “You will have to work with an agent of Hell. It is a joint venture, and a high priority mission. Can you stand to work with demons?”

“This will not be a problem.”

“Good. I think your skill set will come in handy. Obviously, we also require your utmost discretion.” Artiyael nodded. “Come with me, then.” 

Uriel led the way back to the main gates of Heaven, where the other Archangels were gathered. 

“Our volunteer has arrived!” Gabriel announced, with wide, spread palms welcoming him. 

“Artiyael, reporting for duty.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Gabriel boomed. “Michael, will you fill him in?” 

“Your mission is exploratory in nature. You will be going down to earth and report what you find. You will be given further instructions on where to go from there depending on… local conditions.” 

Artiyael was confused. “That’s all? Just, go to earth and look around.”

The Archangels exchanged looks.

“There is a… weapon of sorts… that has been deployed. It detects angels and then deploys hellfire against them,” said Sandalphon. 

“Or demons. If it detects demons it deploys holy water,” said Uriel.

“Correct,” said Michael. “However, your task is to do your best not to provoke anything, including this… weapon. Hell has intel and will be sending their own representative on this mission, and we will all be in direct contact the entire time. You will need to carry this with you, and describe any developments out loud. We will be listening in and issue further instructions as needed.” Michael handed him a small white box, one side was glowing glass. “For now, your instructions are to descend to earth via the main entrance and wait on the landing for the representative of Hell to arrive. Do not exit the landing of the escalator until instructed.”

Artiyael looked at the strange box for a moment before nodding. “Understood.”

Gabriel clapped his hands together, a loud noise in the otherwise quiet vastness of Heaven. “Excellent. No time like the present!” And bustled him off. 

The ride down was uneventful, though Artiyael had almost never ventured down to the material plane, and certainly not since the ‘escalator’ had existed. It was much easier than walking the stairs oneself. He arrived at the metal landing at the end and stepped onto it, careful not to exit as instructed. 

“I have arrived at the landing,” Artiyael spoke into the box.

“Describe your surroundings,” said Gabriel’s voice coming from out of the little box. 

“I am in an atrium, with a solid room and glass walls on one side. It is an empty room. It is daylight outside and raining slightly.”

“Any… abnormalities in reality?” Sandalphon asked.

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Let us know if that changes,” said Gabriel. 

He waited for quite some time, though it was almost relieving. No one ranting about war, or swinging deadly weapons recklessly about. He was practically enjoying the quiet silence, punctuated only by the soft snick-snick of the escalator rolling. 

Eventually, he saw someone riding the up escalators to his right. 

“A demon is approaching. They are averaged size, dark skinned, and appear to have fuzzy hair horns that are shaped like bunny ears. They appear afraid and are hunkering as they ride their escalator up.”

“That’s Hell’s representative,” said Michael.

The demon reached the landing, letting the momentum of the escalator push him just barely onto the landing as he crouched behind the handrails, tense. After a long pause and many furtive glances, he un-crouched, drawing up and dusting themselves off.

“Right. I’ve reached the landing, sir.” They spoke into their own black box.

“Anything?” a voice from their box spoke.

“All clear, sir. Same as before.” 

Artiyael turned and stepped closer to the demon. “Good day, Hellish Representative. I am Artiyael.”

The voice from the box snorted, “Angels. Fuckers. Yeah, good to meet you angel scum, yadda yadda. Ignore him and listen to me. Step off the landing, but only one foot. Keep your arms down and DO NOT do anything miraculous or threatening or your life is forfeit. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your Imminence. Crystal clear.”

“Did you hear that?” asked Artiyael.

“Yes, thank you,” said Michael. 

The demon was taking the slowest step Artiyael had ever seen, as if terrified he’d blow up when his weight finally shifted to the foot off the landing. 

When he finished Artiyael spoke. “The demon has stepped off the platform. Nothing has happened.”

Both boxes made noises, one sighed and one groaned. 

“Keep walking, the both of you, and report when you get to the front door,” said the black box.

“I do not take orders from Hell.”

“You do for this mission. Follow what Beelzebub says,” said Gabriel. 

Artiyael complied, stepping off the landing and walking towards the door at a normal pace. The demon gawked, and followed at a much more trepidatious pace. 

“I have arrived at the door and nothing has changed. The demon is only halfway here.”

“Stay with your buddy!” scolded Uriel.

Artiyael sighed. He thought he’d gotten away from their buddy system, but apparently he’d just traded partners. At least this one wasn’t dangerous, just afraid. He walked back to the demon and kept pace together. 

“We have both reached the door and nothing has changed.”

“Exzzzzzzit,” said Beelzebub.

Artiyael reached for the door, and as soon as his hand came in contact with it two slices in reality appeared, each two foot long slashes hovering at head height in the air on the other side of the door. The demon ducked behind him, like he was a body shield. 

“Something has happened. There are… cuts in reality on the other side of the door.”

“Have they opened?” asked Michael.

“Opened? No?”

Gabriel spoke, “They look like eyes when they open.”

Artiyael pushed on the door, opening it. As he did, the … eyes… also opened.

“I have opened the door and now the eyes are open. One is blue and one is orange. Neither has pupils but it is clear that they are looking at me. They are both… wavering.” 

“Any holy water?” said Beelzebub.

“Or hellfire?” said Gabriel.

“No, nothing of the sort, though these eyes seem to be giving off a mixed aura.” 

“Keep walking,” ordered Beelzebub. 

The demon clutched at his clothes and scuttled behind him as Artiyael took a few steps forward. 

“The eyes are moving ahead of us. They drag at reality as they move through it and it distorts things in a most fascinating and chaotic manner. I believe if I were moving much faster it would create more tears in the eddies.”

“Don’t do that!” Gabriel said. The demon behind him nodded emphatically.

“I had no intention of it. The eyes now appear to be rising slowly… I have reached the street. There are humans here walking around but they do not appear to see the eyes, which are now above our heads and well outside what a human could reach. The humans are giving us strange looks.”    
  
“Do NOT attempt to conceal yourselves,” barked Beelzebub. 

“Why not?” said Gabriel.

“We’re fairly certain that miracles will provoke the eyes,” said Beelzebub. 

There was a long pause, during which Artiyael waited patiently and the demon ceased his clutching, coming round to stand beside him instead and look around. 

“They should go to Aziraphale’s base of operations,” said Michael. 

“That traitor,” said Sandalphon.    
  
“Will our man be safe there?” asked Beelzebub. 

“I don’t see why not. He’s probably consorting with your traitor Crowley as we speak,” said Gabriel. 

Beelzebub scoffed. “That’s true. Alright you two, head out.”    



	9. Heal thy Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, ho! 
> 
> (there is a link to skip explicit content)

Crowley and Aziraphale had regained control of their corporations to the point that they could stand and move about, if awkwardly. They hadn’t, though, because moving was exhausting and they still felt weakened. Aziraphale had managed to straighten up the mess they’d made of the room, clearing up the splattered remains of lunch with a miracle and righting all his books.

Briefly, Aziraphale thought he should move back into his own armchair as was usual, but he just couldn’t bear to part with Crowley. He needed Crowley to be as physically present as possible or Aziraphale feared he’d lose himself in grief again, the throbbing pain of loss inside him only mollified when he was touching the demon. The reassuring press of his warm body against his side as they shared the couch was crucial to Aziraphale in that moment. Crowley himself didn’t seem to mind, since he was reaching out for Aziraphale and brushing his knuckles down Aziraphale’s waistcoat, clutching at his trousers, holding his hand or leaning against him as they recovered. 

They were interrupted by a tapping, which ramped up to a whole cacophony of tapping coming from the front windows of the shop. 

“What in the world…” said Crowley, craning forwards as if to try and get a look. 

“I should probably go investigate,” said Aziraphale. 

“Well you’re not going alone. Whatever all that racket is, it’s weird and I don’t trust it.” Crowley stood up, wobbling a bit on his feet. Aziraphale joined him, and put a steadying hand to the demon’s lower back.

“Together, then.”

They moved into the front of the shop, and through the uncovered parts of the front windows they could see what the noise was. A dole of doves was outside, pecking at the windows. As they watched, the doves moved, instead pecking at the front door. 

“Aziraphale, why are doves knocking at your door?”

“I don’t know, dearest. That’s never happened before.”

Crowley blushed and pulled away slightly. “Dearest?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked over. “Yes?”

They stared at each other for a moment, the tapping continuing in the background. 

“I really should answer that,” said Aziraphale.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

Aziraphale opened the door. The doves settled down a few steps aways from the stoop, upon which sat two boxes, one wrapped in black paper and one in gold, each with a letter setting on top. Aziraphale bent to retrieve them.

“It seems we’ve had a delivery.” He handed the black box and its letter to Crowley. “This ones addressed to you.”

Crowley frowned. “I don’t like this.” 

Aziraphale merely hummed in reply and moved back to the back room, setting his gold box on the table and opening the letter. Crowley set his package beside the other and sat back down on the couch, scowling at both packages. Aziraphale ignored him and read his letter. 

> _My Dear Aziraphale, Principality of Earth,  
> _
> 
> _Have Crowley read his letter. I promise it won’t hurt either of you.  
> _
> 
> _Sincerely,  
> _ _God_
> 
> _P.S. send Adam this message. “Okay.”_

“Interesting. Crowley, read your letter please, dearest love.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow, a look of shock passing across his features, and he reached for his letter, then hesitated.

“I’m absolutely certain it doesn’t contain anything dangerous,” said Aziraphale smugly.

Crowley pressed his lips in a harsh line and opened the letter. “Congratulations on your recent promotion Crowley, Principality of Earth. Or perhaps you’d prefer Princedom Crowley? I leave the exact demonic title you’d like to claim up to you. Please make use of the devices that come with your positions. -God” Crowley dropped his letter. “G-g- God?”

“Yes, mine was from her as well.” 

Crowley ripped the letter from Aziraphale’s hand, earning him a tut, read it and with a growl threw them away from him. 

“Now see here, that’s no way to treat other people’s things!” Aziraphale scolded as he went to retrieve the letters. He smoothed them, folded them carefully back up and set them safely in his desk. He’d never gotten anything from the Almighty before, and he intended to cherish these. When he turned back, Crowley had opened both their packages. Aziraphale tsked loudly, but Crowley ignored him as he stared at the contents. As Aziraphale moved closer he could see down into the open packages. Inside his was a golden filigree box, somewhat similar to several snuff boxes already in his collection, but this would be a crown jewel among them. It was a bit larger, about the size of his palm and two inches or so deep, and it had ornate feet shaped like spreading angel wings. Hidden in the scrollwork on the lid was one closed eye, right in the center.

“How lovely!” said Aziraphale as he reached it to remove it. Underneath, there was a card, which he picked up with his other hand. In a strong print was a handwritten note. 

_Demonic Ambrosia_

_Feed to Crowley to heal his occult body  
_ _Eat for his corporeal body_

Aziraphale set them down and the card immediately began to wither, curling up until it had dried to nothing but dust. 

“Oh my,” said Aziraphale. “What’s yours then?”

Crowley lifted out his box, sleek and inky black, almost as if it was a liquid void and not an object, of a similar size and shape as Aziraphale’s. There was a clasp on the front made of fire opal carved into a feather, giving the illusion of it floating in the void. 

Crowley grunted, and turned the box, begrudgingly approving. “A true black.” There was a card under his as well, which he read and handed to Aziraphale, setting his box back down on the table. He flopped back on the couch, crossing his arms.

_Angelic Ambrosia_

_Feed to Aziraphale to heal his ethereal body  
_ _Eat for his corporeal body._

_\- Keep your boxes safe from Heaven and Hell -_

“Nearly the same as mine, then,” Aziraphale said. The card in his hand began to wither as well, falling to the ground as dust. He ignored it and opened his golden box. Inside were five little fruits, each pearlescent grey, the size of a cherry but perfectly spherical. A thin curl of smoke drifted up and off them, dissipating into the room with a heavy scent.

“Crowley, open your mouth please, dearest.”

Crowley turned, his golden eyes staring into Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale moved, all while maintaining eye contact, and sat down beside the demon, crowding their legs together. He looked down to pick up one of his fruits, closed his golden box and set it down. He caught Crowley’s gaze again and held it as he pressed the fruit to Crowley’s bottom lip.

“Open,” he commanded. 

Obediently, Crowley let his mouth fall open and Aziraphale breached it with the fruit, pushing it in slowly with his pointer finger. Aziraphale felt his body heating up as he realized the scope of the situation and he froze. A moment passed and Crowley slowly closed his lips around Aziraphale’s finger. Crowley’s mouth was warm and soft and Aziraphale licked his own lips as he slowly withdrew his finger, letting it rest heavy against his demon’s tongue for a moment before it popped out. 

Crowley blinked, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale tried to quash the rising press of his arousal, instead choosing to give what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Crowley chewed a few times, swallowed, then his eyes rolled up and slid closed. He shivered, a small moan escaping after. Aziraphale unconsciously leaned in, entranced. 

Crowley sighed, then smiled. “Oh that is better… Here.” He leaned forward, opening his own box. The fruits inside were the same size, shape and number, but these were a pearlescent white-pink and seemed to glitter and glow slightly. He removed a fruit, closed the box and set it down. “This stuff’s actually pretty great.” He held it out, offering it to the angel.

Aziraphale looked between the fruit and Crowley’s face, which started as an open half-smile, but which morphed into a more serious, intense gaze as the moment lingered. Aziraphale leaned forward slowly, his lips parted, watching Crowley’s reaction as he took the fruit and two of Crowley’s fingers into his mouth and sucked, pulling the fruit free of his demons grasp. It was sweet and sharp, like having a candy covered in fizzy bubbles on his tongue. It tasted of power.

“Nnnggk.” Crowley swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard. He turned his hand, letting his fingers pull out and rest on Aziraphale’s lips. A hesitation, then he caressed the line of Aziraphale’s lower lip, dragging his nail slightly along the underside. The sensation sparked a burning heat inside the angel, a golden glow from deep in his belly. Without intending to, he felt himself shift, changing to a more fully-human shape. He pulled back and Crowley’s eyes tracked his lips as he moved. 

Remembering the ambrosia, he took a bite and it popped in his mouth, rushing it with a burst of intensity. Aziraphale moaned, closing his eyes against the sensations. Nectar filled his mouth with indescribably flavor. It was like a sunset, with all the colors possible dappled out across the land, but instead they were flavors, red and gold and dusk-purple filling his senses. He chewed, rolling it around his mouth and felt another moan deep in his throat. It was fizzing now, a sparkling sensation as it shifted from sweet to tart to earthy notes. He swallowed, and as he felt it travel down into his body a cold sensation bloomed out from it, like having drunk iced wine that leaves a pleasant heat in the aftermath. It moved throughout his corporeal body, giving him the shivers, before it blurred into the aether and rushed outwards, throughout his entire ethereal existence. It tingled on his broken edges and they began curling and growing, healing where they were jagged or split, feathering and uncoiling like fern fronds, fractal. Pieces of himself that had been obliterated rejuvenated, budding off and returning to their orbit around his main body, hundreds of thousands of pieces of himself, separate but still somehow a part of him, and as the ambrosia roared through it fluffed them up like a shaken snow globe, and they swirled about. 

At last it settled, and his senses returned to his corporation, aglow with a mellow heat. He felt satiated, like he’d just eaten and drank his fill of the most exquisite repast in existence. Even his heart felt lighter, as if his anxiety and sorrow had been lifted from him, leaving just a lingering shadow of the hurt and fear of losing Crowley. He gasped and huffed, trying to come down from it all, energized and rejuvenated. 

When he opened his eyes, Crowley was staring and biting his lip, a dusting of blush across his cheeks and down his neck. It renewed Aziraphale’s arousal and his eyes became half lidded as he sized the demon up.

“That was… a lot. I, uh… I guess you had more to heal then I did,” said Crowley. His eyes had gone full snake and he was pink-cheeked.

“Mmmmm,” said Aziraphale as he moved closer. He reached out, one hand sliding up his chest, the soft fabric underneath his hand smooth and warm, just as he’d remembered it being when he was in that body. Crowley’s breath hitched. Aziraphale reached his neck and paused. “May I kiss you?”

Crowley worked his mouth and nothing came out. 

“I would like to,” Aziraphale purred.

“You would?”

“Very much, if you’ll allow it.”

Then a small, “Y- yeah…”

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him, leaning into it, pressing while also pulling the demon closer with the hand curled around his neck. Crowley was warm, and delicious, and tasted like just a hint of the ambrosia, though his was succulent. Aziraphale licked along his bottom lip, chasing the flavor and Crowley parted them, letting him in with a soft sound. Aziraphale kissed deeply until Crowley’s tongue made its appearance, at which point Aziraphale pulled it to his mouth, sucking lightly. The tingle of ambrosia joined in and gave the scent of woodsmoke and chocolate to their kiss, which Aziraphale greedily lapped and sucked at, pushing himself up and over to straddle Crowley’s lap. 

Crowley’s hands rose to gently rest at Aziraphale’s side, and then clutched at his hips, like a drowning man looking for a life preserver. Aziraphale pulled away to check in.

Crowley looked debauched. It was unfair how attractive he looked right now. His lips were pink and kiss-swollen, shiny with their shared moisture and parted as gentle pants passed through. His eyes were unfocused, pupils blown, his collar crooked from Aziraphale’s hand rucking it up. He looked ravished, and Aziraphale had barely done any of the things he’d like to yet. 

“Look at you, my darling love,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale felt the demon’s love rise like a tide and pour out, filling the room. It warmed Aziraphale further as he basked in it, emboldened.

He smiled, a mischievous thing. “You like that, don’t you love?” A hitch of a nod, barely visible. “It does feel good to finally be free to say it. That I love you. Oh, so very, very much, Crowley, did you know that?” Another nod. “Good. I’d like to show you how much. I want you to really know it, just as I can feel how much you love me. Do you want me to tell you all the things I’d like to do to you? Is that something you would enjoy? Or would you rather me kiss you more. You seemed to like that very much.”

Crowley gasped and his hands fell to Aziraphale’s thighs. “Ah.. Nneh… Angel” he said breathlessly.

“That’s not an answer.”

Crowley paused. “Both?”  [/sex] 

Aziraphale giggled and pressed a closed mouth kiss to Crowley's bottom lip. “Alright, my greedy demon. Where to begin… You have the loveliest neck. It’s so graceful,” Aziraphale leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side, right under his jaw, and trailed his lips lower, pressing each kiss a little stronger than the last till he reached the juncture of neck and shoulder, where he paused and whispered into the skin, “I find myself regularly wanting to bite it.” He took it gently in his teeth, scraping them across as he sucked a bruise. Crowley inhaled a hissing breath and hugged him hard, pressed their torsos together.

Aziraphale came back up and kissed his cheek. “I think about you, sometimes, physically, even though you are much more than that. I wonder, what does Crowley like done to his body? Does he like what I like? Would he enjoy it if I kissed down his chest? Are his nipples sensitive? I would like to find out.”

A hurried nod, “Please.”

“Lovely.” Aziraphale unbuttoned him, parting his clothes to run his hands up and down his chest, from sternum to the dip of his hips, reaching back to caress his ribs. The soft down of his hair added a pleasant texture, and as he caressed his nipples stood at attention, begging to be touched more. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to one and Crowley sucked in a breath. Aziraphale flicked it with his tongue, little kitten licks that made Crowley squirm, before taking it into his mouth and sucking. 

A deep vocalization rolled from Crowley, right out of his chest with a bit of rumble at the end. 

“You like that.”

Crowley replied in a breathless voice, “Yeah.”

Aziraphale raised up and kissed him on the mouth again, the sweet slide of their lips together lighting him up inside even further. He felt himself growing hard, straining against his trousers. Crowley shifted, sucking in Aziraphale’s lip and gently nipping it, and Aziraphale’s hips snapped forward, seemingly of their own volition, rutting up against the demon beneath him. It ground their hips together, a similar hardness of Crowley’s meeting his and causing the demon to pull away as he gasped a deep moan. 

Aziraphale wanted more of that, salivating over the sounds he was causing and began rocking their hips together, savoring each new addition that fell from Crowley as he threw his head back and lost himself in the sensations. “I wondered what sort of effort you put into this body now that you have it back. Shall I find out?”

“W-....” he huffed a pant. “Wait.” Aziraphale slowed his motions.

“Is something the matter?”

“Aziraphale... “ Crowley whined, moving his hands to hold the angel’s shoulders, stilling him and pushing him slightly away.

Aziraphale stopped all movement. “Are you alright, my love?”

Crowley bit his lip and looked away. 

Aziraphale leaned back, giving his demon a little more space, and waited. Eventually, Crowley seemed to gather himself. 

“Where is all… this… coming from?” said Crowley.

“Where? From me, Crowley.”

“Are you sure? It’s not the… the ambrosia? I know mine felt fantastic but…” 

“No, Crowley. It’s not the ambrosia.”

Crowley turned back to face him with concern and a little fear in his eyes. “Then what? We’ve… We’ve cared for each other for a long time. Looooooong time, and never once have you ever even tried to hug me, but now you’re… Where is all this coming from Aziraphale, now, if not the ambrosia?”

“Oh dear, you sweet demon you.” Aziraphale reached up and cradled Crowley’s cheek with his palm. “I promise this is all me. I have loved you for a very long time, and I’ve wanted this for even longer. I've been afraid that if I let myself love you, openly and freely, that it would destroy you. And I-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I couldn’t live with myself if I caused your death. I would rather deny myself for eternity than that.” 

He paused, gathering himself. Crowley started rubbing his shoulders, and Aziraphale smiled at him— a soft, weak thing. “But today I thought you _had_ died, and I had never even told you that you were beloved.” His smile grew, beaming the love he felt. “And you are my beloved. You didn’t die and now I have you here again, safe and whole and on our _own side_ , with Heaven and Hell too scared of what we’ve become to come for us and… And I find I cannot wait any longer. I want you. I want you in any way you would like me to have you. I want to tell you all the things I have buried in my heart, every soft murmur and obscene impulse that I’ve hidden there, to finally release them. You have no _idea_ the mountain of desires I have for you, I think. There are so many things I have _wanted_.”

Aziraphale took a breath. “So. Here I am, whole, hale and brimming with unsatisfied desires. All I can think about is how much I want to worship you with my love. And my words. And my mouth.”  [/sex] 

Crowley gripped his arms. 

“Especially my mouth, at the moment.”

The demon made an “oh” face, noiselessly. Aziraphale smirked, and caressed Crowley’s cheek, dragging a nail of his other hand down his neck. “I take it that is something you’d like.”

Crowley turned his head to kiss Aziraphale’s palm, then sucked his thumb into his mouth and moaned around it. 

“Perfect.” Aziraphale trailed his hand farther down leisurely until it came to rest on Crowley’s amusing ouroboros belt. He leaned forward and kissed the hollow of Crowley’s throat, then scooted backwards till his feet hit the floor. He lowered himself to his knees, trailing kisses as he went, before he settled himself between the demon’s legs. Crowley’s hands flew to the belt, unbuckling it. 

“Thank you dear. I wasn’t quite sure how that worked.” He pulled on the remaining garments, exposing just the reddened tip of Crowley’s still-hard cock. Aziraphale bent, kissing it. A broken sound came from Crowley, like he tried to swallow and scream at the same time. 

Aziraphale huffed, his breath ghosting over the sensitive organ and it twitched, so he pulled the clothing lower. Once he freed Crowley's lovely cock from the confines of clothing entirely, it jutted up proudly, so hard that it bobbed slightly with each beat of Crowley’s heart, which was thumping rapidly, just as Aziraphale's was. 

“My darling, you look delicious. So ready for me. I can’t wait to put my mouth around you, to taste the salt of your excitement. Feel the stretch of my lips as I take you inside me. The weight of you resting on my tongue as I suck you.”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fu- … _Aziraphale_ ,” he whined, face bright red all the way to his ears, jaw slack and panting heavily. Aziraphale took a moment, trying to memorize how beautiful and wrecked he looked, to savor this and lock it forever in his heart. 

Then he licked up the bottom of Crowley’s shaft and swallowed him down, suddenly and to the root, burying his nose into the thatch of hair. Crowley arched his back, throwing an arm up and clutching the back of the couch with it, an “AH” echoed into the air. 

Aziraphale sucked, bobbing his head slowly up and down, pressing with his lips and tongue to wrench more of those wonderful “ah… ah” sounds from his demon. He wished he could see more of the lovely faces he was making, but Crowley’s head was still thrown back. Aziraphale closed his eyes to focus on the feel of his lover’s cock sliding past his lips, the delicious stretch and pull as he pleasured him. 

Suddenly, he could see everything as if he was looking down from the ceiling. Crowley’s eyes were screwed up in a face so fraught with pleasure it almost looked like pain, his mouth slack and open as he panted. His nipples were pert and hard, pointing up and out as his clothes hung half off his shoulders, his abs tense and thighs slowly spreading, rocking with Aziraphale’s movements. The sight of Aziraphale’s own halo of white hair bobbing as he worked was strangely erotic, and embarrassing, but even that seemed to fuel the fire of his arousal. He was the actor and the audience, simultaneously, as if he was watching a porno of himself sucking Crowley off while offering up a repeat performance. It made him feel used, and beautiful and shy all at once, and he shivered with it, moaning, the rumble of it vibrating through to Crowley. 

“Ah. Ah Zi Rah, ah… Angel. Angel. I’m. I’m…”

Aziraphale sucked harder, swallowing with each thrust, and reached up to gently cup underneath, pressing his fingertips into the sensitive area underneath his balls. 

With a loud cry Crowley came, his hips thrusting up as he arched farther, burying himself deep inside Aziraphale as he released. Aziraphale could feel each throbbing pulse with his fingers and mouth, while simultaneously he watched it all from his bird’s eye view, loving every bit of it, from the way Crowley’s eyes flew open, wide and vacant as he crested, to the hand that scrabbled uselessly at the cushions, trying not to grab Aziraphale even as Aziraphale was absolutely wrecking him. It was the most indecent thing he’d ever seen and he greedily enjoyed it, locking it away to be marveled at later. Aziraphale loosened his mouth, gently working Crowley through his orgasm, swallowing the spurts as they came. His demon collapsed boneless in the chair as his cock gave it’s last few pulses. Aziraphale pulled off, opening his eyes and kissing the tip as he did, which ended his other viewpoint. He gave it another quick peck as it softened and then tucked it back inside Crowley's clothes. 

When he leaned back to enjoy a better vantage for marveling at his wrecked love, he noticed that Crowley was still staring up. He glanced that way and did a double take, as a very large eye was in fact floating just below the ceiling. 

Aziraphale was taken aback and the eye seemed to be as well, blinking rapidly at them. Then he realized. “Ah. Well. That explains that,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley lifted his head up to look at him, finally. “That explains what?”

“I was…" Aziraphale coughed. "Well, I was enjoying… watching… us.”

“You were? You kinky, voyeuristic angel, you. That’s you, then, yeah?”

“Apparently. I’ve never done that before but it seems I can now.” He concentrated, feeling out the piece of himself that was up there, then closed the eye. It winked out of the material plane, like it had never been there. “All better now.”

Crowley hummed. "Surely not _all_ better.”

Aziraphale cocked his head. “Oh?”

Crowley gestured to Aziraphale’s obvious erection. “Seems like things could go much better for you. I could, um... help with that?”

“Would you like that?”

“Yessssssss…” Crowley tugged his sleeve, and Aziraphale obliged him, returning to his lap and bending down for another kiss. Crowley closed his eyes as their kisses grew intense one more.

Crowley pulled back, his eyes closed but his face pinched.

“Crowley?”

“There’s… There is an angel headed this way.” His eyes opened and darted about the room. Finally he settled on piercing Aziraphale with a pleading look. “I saw them. They’re just down the street, they’re gonna be here any minute.”

“Are they?” Aziraphale stood up and righted himself, de-manifesting his genitals and straightening his clothes. Crowley merely snapped, and his clothing was as before, though he’d neglected his hair, probably not realizing Aziraphale had mussed it. Something about that pleased Aziraphale. He liked the idea of leaving a mark. “What timing,” he said dryly. 

Crowley snickered. “Sorry, angel. Another time.”

Aziraphale huffed. Another time, yet again. Damn Heaven for always making it have to be another time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have backlogged, so no more daily updates :C


	10. Bodies in Opposition

Aziraphale made sure to hide their boxes of ambrosia, placing them in the bottom drawer of his desk for the moment. They’d have to come up with somewhere more secure later— Aziraphale was certain that having the ability to heal without assistance would be invaluable in the future and that making sure Heaven and Hell didn’t know how they could do that was what the Almighty’s warning was about. When he was satisfied, he went to the front room of his shop and waited for this angel to arrive with his hands clasped in front of him. Crowley paced behind him. Sure enough, a few minutes later the door opened, ringing the bell, even though it had been locked and the sign said “closed.” 

A lanky blond stuck his head in and called out, “Excuse me?”

“Yes?” answered Aziraphale flatly. 

The angel jumped and turned, then came all the way into the room. He had long blond hair, loose flowing, white angelic robes and stuck out like a sore thumb in modern London. Behind him a demon followed, nearly a head and shoulders smaller, looking much more modern in his raggedy black coat and blue homespun scarf, though his horns were visible, scraggly hair things that were rather cute, which was very surprising on a demon. What an odd pair they were.

“Pardon the intrusion, you are Aziraphale the Angel, yes?” asked the other angel. Aziraphale gave a perfunctory nod. “Lovely to make your acquaintance. I am Artiyael and I was sent here from Heaven with my companion demon…” he gestured to the demon, who just looked around. “... Right. May we come in?”

Crowley grumbled, giving them hard looks, circling them threateningly even though his hands were in his pockets. The other angel -Artiyael- watched him nervously. Aziraphale hesitated then gestured an invite with one hand, “Please, step into my back room.”

Artiyael nodded his thanks and the other demon followed behind them, wide-eyed and looking around. As they stepped forward, reality bent behind them, warping in a nauseating way as a pair of humongous holes in reality floated  _ through  _ the front wall of his bookshop, trailing the pair. As they passed reality snapped back behind them, sending little ripples outward. They were massive things, the pair of them, a good foot across each at least. The one on the right was a black void with a spinning ball of yellow fire in the center. The one on the left was a white void, with a blue ball speckled with brown and a few white cloudy spots, also rotating gently. They looked almost like eyes, though neither had a pupil, especially paired up together like that. 

“Good Lord!” Aziraphale blurted out, hand flying to his chest. “What  _ is that _ ?”

The other two stopped and turned around, looking at the eyes, then back to Aziraphale. Artiyael spoke, “Those are what we were sent here to discuss.” And without further hesitation, continued into the back room. The orange eye followed the two into the back, but the blue one lingered. 

“Angel…” Crowley leaned in to whisper. “Isn’t that another one of yours?”

Aziraphale blinked. Was it? He squinted at it, focusing. It squinted back. He harrumphed and imagined it closing, going back to the aether and without further ado, it did. “We’ll talk about that later.” He didn’t like this, not at all. It had looked… similar to the one he’d opened before but it was a lot more disconcerting looking when that large and close up. Furthermore, one’s body was not supposed to wander about, breaking reality, without so much as a by your leave. He joined his guests in the back room, where they had both sat on his couch, so Aziraphale sat in his armchair. Crowley lingered in the front before he too joined them, having acquired his sunglasses, and leaned against Aziraphale’s armchair with one arm. 

“Well?” Aziraphale said. It was rude and he knew it, but he’d been interrupted from a very good time by guests he definitely didn't invite. Crowley snickered. 

“Ah. The eyes. Heaven and Hell have sent us to make inquiries with you, about them.”

“And why do they think we’ll answer their ‘inquiries’ considering they tried to kill us?” said Crowley. 

“They tried to kill you?” said Artiyael, his brows fighting between flying up in surprise and drawing down in concern. Aziraphale didn’t know whether to pity him or worry about why such an open angel had been sent. 

“Yes, they did. But that is a bit of a digression, I fear,” said Aziraphale.

“We were sent here because there was no other option, as I understand it. All other demons and angels have been driven off of earth except you-”

“ _ Have _ they, now?” Aziraphale interrupted. 

“Good riddance,” said Crowley so that only Aziraphale could hear. It made him smile. 

“Yes. The eyes appear in large numbers as soon as one of us arrives on earth, and then as you see,” He looked around and realized the eyes were gone. “Oh. Well as you saw they followed us the whole time we were on earth. We are under strict orders not to do any miracles or provoke them, or else they will retaliate with holy water and hellfire. Heaven is hoping you would help them discover the source of this weapon.”

“Hell just wants to know how to destroy it. Though Beelzebub would settle for how to get around it. You two seem to have a way of doing that,” The demon spoke, finally. 

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and said, “Whether we have a way or not, we won’t share that information with people who want us dead.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Quite right. I’ll obey orders from the Almighty, but not the Archangels, not anymore. And She didn’t mention this in our recent communication, so I’m afraid that Heaven is on its own.” 

“ _ She _ spoke to you?” Artiyael said, surprise writ across his features. He was clearly an angel who never left Heaven, he was so open with his reactions. 

“She’s corresponded. With both of us, in fact. Feel free to tell that to Gabriel and the other Archangels, I’m sure they’ll find that very interesting. Now, unless you have any other business, I believe we’re done here.” He stood up. 

"No way! I'm not going back empty handed. Do you have any idea what Beelzebub will do to me?"

"Yes, actually. First hand," said Crowley, then leaned towards their guests and smiled, all sharp teeth and fangs. "Would you like to find out what we'll do to you if you overstay your welcome?" And he lifted his hand, poised to snap. 

The other demon jumped up, assumed a defensive stance and his hand rose in a similar gesture, but before it could rise past his waist the room exploded as reality cracked and warped in every direction and dozens of eyes surrounded them, half light and half dark and burning. 

"Halt!" cried Artiyael. "Please, everyone, cease! We do not wish to provoke it." 

The other demon slowly lowered his hand and stood there, stock still and darting his gaze around. "No miracles, right, right. Look at me, not doing any miracles. Harmless demon, here."

Crowley sneered and the demon glared at him.

"Goodness. That was rather dramatic," said Aziraphale. He looked around, scrutinizing the eyes. They were quite varied, though all on a similar theme, and if he was being honest they were beautiful, each slightly distinct in size and coloration, even if the very large ones were rather disconcerting. The light ones were his, alright, acting on their own again. At least this time it was a very valuable bodily reaction to be automated. He could feel his other eyes milling about in agitation, and now that he knew what to look for, he could tell that no others were breaking into reality at the moment. He left these as they were, not wanting to give away too much. "Nevertheless, it continues to be time for you to leave." He gestured to the door. 

Artiyael nodded and stood slowly, and started walking out. The demon hesitated before he straightened and followed on tiptoes, as if sneaking was something one could accomplish when being stared at. Two of the largest eyes broke off and followed them, as well as Aziraphale, who wanted to make sure they were gone. He locked up after them and watched them through the window until they were out of sight. 

He sighed and turned around to find Crowley, his sunglasses propped on his head, watching him with one eye closed and his tongue poking out in concentration. It was adorable and made his heart soften, loosening the tension his guests had inflicted. 

"My dear, what  _ are _ you doing?" 

"Watching. If I do this I can see both here and there."

"You can? "

"Mmhmm. Other eyes are mine." 

"Oh." Why hadn’t he realized that? They were both Principalities now, with similarly shaped lacy aethereal bodies, it made sense that the demon would also have eyes like his. Though he’d been a principality for a lot longer, his body had been locked away,  [1]  and he was a little put out that Crowley was getting the hang of it faster than him. 

Crowley interrupted his thoughts, "Wanna make sure they do leave earth. See if anything else interesting happens."

Aziraphale hummed, then closed one of his eyes as well, concentrating on what he wished to see. Sure enough it worked, if a bit disorienting, and he could see both his cute demon mleming in front of him and their recent guests walking down busy London streets, drawing attention and a bit of gawking. 

"They are so conspicuous," said Aziraphale.

"Can't do miracles to blend in and neither was prepared for that. Ugh, that angel. How out of the loop do you have to be to still be wearing that? Heaven's really scraping the barrel."

Aziraphale giggled. "Well you heard them. Being down here it's dangerous. Who could possibly expect an Archangel to risk their own life when they could risk someone else's?" 

"At least Hell was smart enough to send someone who'd been on earth before. And recently. Did you notice the mobile?"

"No! Where was it?"

"Kept it low and near his pocket, but pointed out. Think he might've been recording." 

Aziraphale made a thoughtful noise, then it was quiet as they watched the angel and demon walking down the street. They had a ways to go if they were taking the main entrance back.

"When did you figure out they were your eyes?" Aziraphale said, breaking the silence.

"When you closed yours after they came in. Thought, well how'd I see them coming, then? Giant floating eyeball breaking through from another dimension wasn't going to be my first guess, but…" he shrugged, "When the evidence is staring you in the face."

Aziraphale wanted so badly to roll his eyes, but they were already engaged to concentrate and see two places at once. He felt a tickle on his cheeks. 

"Did… did you just manifest two extra eyes on your face _just so that you could roll them_ _at me_?"

Aziraphale pulled the extra eyes back into the aether with a thought. "Perhaps." 

Crowley grinned. "You bastard."

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Gabriel had been pacing since they ended their communication with their volunteer angel. The other Archangels were nearby, occasionally doing other work, but Gabriel couldn’t. He just paced, holding the phone and waiting for a call, and nothing. Why did it take so long to travel without using miracles? Did their idiot of an angel forget how to call them back, as he’d been instructed? 

Finally, the phone rang. “Gabriel speaking.” The other Archangels hurried over, and he miracled up a pillar to set it on. Because he expected it to switch to speaker, it did. 

“Greetings, Archangel Gabriel. We have concluded our discussion with the angel Aziraphale. I’m not sure how valuable the information I have gathered will be, as the angel Aziraphale was not very forthcoming. He is clearly recovering from an emotional injury with such a mental state, which I believe has made him—”

Gabriel growled and interrupted. “I don’t care about that. What happened? What did he tell you about the weapon?” Healing angels had their priorities so screwed up. If only a more valuable angel could have been used.

“He said they won’t share any information with Heaven and Hell. He also said that they’ve been in contact with God.”

“He what?” blurted out Michael. 

“He’s lying,” said Sandalphon.

“I don’t think he was, it was one of the few moments that his emotions were very clear. He was mostly feeling smug and pleased when he said that.”

“You can detect others’ emotions?” said Uriel.

“Yes, I was built to comfort the bereaved. It helps me accomplish my purpose. There were many interesting emotions in that meeting. For example, I was expecting a demon to feel hatred and fear but I wasn’t expecting love and prot—”

Gabriel sighed. “Please stay on topic Artiyael. The weapon?” 

“Yes, of course. The pair of eyes stayed with us until we entered Aziraphale’s base of operations, at which point they disappeared. My counterpart made a threatening gesture and they reappeared en mass, but when we made it apparent that we were not a threat they reduced back down to two, and these are still following us as we make our way back. Aziraphale seemed very taken aback when they appeared behind us, and his shock and concern were genuine and strong, so I did not think he has been encountering them as we are.”

“Interesting,” said Michael. 

“However, when asked directly about them he was prevaricating and nervous, with a deep fear partially resurfacing. The demon Crowley responded to all of our direct questions, which was a defensive stance. He denied us information. He was angry and protective and full of love, so it appears that they are non-compliant out of self-interest. When Crowley threatened us with physical and miraculous violence, nothing happened, but when my demonic counterpart attempted a defensive retaliation that  _ did  _ provoke the eyes. Additionally, neither Aziraphale nor the demon Crowley was afraid, merely discomfited at that time. From this I think it is safe to conclude that they are immune from the weapon.”

“Of course they are,” said Gabriel, resigned. 

“Perhaps because the weapon uses hellfire and holy water, which they are immune to, it won’t engage with them?” said Sandalphon. 

“We can speculate later,” said Michael. “Please continue Artiyael.”

“Aziraphale said that he will not obey orders from the Archangels, only the Almighty, and then told me that She has been communicating with both him and the demon Crowley, implying that they are following some orders from her. As I mentioned, this did not seem a lie and he specified that you would be interested to hear this information. He was quite proud when he said that, as was the demon Crowley. We were asked to leave and then threatened when my demon counterpart resisted. It was a genuine threat and Crowley seemed both scared of and confident in the favorable outcome of a confrontation, mysteriously. Demonic emotional reactions are so fascinating—”

“Yes, of course they are. Is there anything else you can think of Artiyael?” said Gabriel. “Nothing that hints on how they are immune or how to destroy or bypass the weapon.”

“I cannot think of anything else along those lines.”

“Good work,” said Michael. “Stay safe and we’ll debrief you further once you return to Heaven.”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Did you get all that?” said the disposable demon.

“Yeah. Excellent work,” said Beelzebub into the phone. They were pleased with their decision to send this demon, he knew what he was about. Calling while the angel reported into Heaven so Hell could eavesdrop was good demonic thinking.

“I’m also sending you an audio recording of the whole thing.”

“Don’t share that with Heaven,” said Dagon.

“No no, of course not.” 

“Right.” With that they hung up. 

“Valuable intel. Always nice to one-up the Opposition,” said Dagon. 

Beelzebub nodded. “I chose well. We’ll convene the Dark Council. They’ll decide what our next move izzzzz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] If Aziraphale knew what a Magic Grow Capsule was, he would have resented the comparison, both for its accuracy and for the indignity of it.  [Back to text] 
> 
> Artiyael being like "Oh nifty demon feelings" was super fun for me, I love him. But what do you expect from an angel built to heal the grief stricken? Hell is like a candy dish for him.


	11. Teleological Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like, 3/4 smut. Enjoy! 
> 
> (If you wanted to skip the explicit content, skip link included.)

Aziraphale and Crowley eventually returned to the back of the bookshop, an awkward affair with one eye watching something you were actually paying attention to and the other looking where you were going. They managed, and though they bumped into things, nothing else was knocked over. 

When Artiyael made a phone call, Aziraphale said, “It’s too bad we can’t hear what they’re saying. That would be valuable.”

Crowley pulled out his phone and snapped, manifesting a bug on the back of the demon. Even though it was a moving target quite a ways away, it wasn’t a difficult miracle at all, since he could see what he was doing. The sound of Artiyael’s voice started coming out of his phone. Aziraphale wiggled, making an exaggerated “Ooooo” face. 

“Don’t worry, they can’t hear us,” said Crowley. What kind of spy tech failure that would be? Bugs that make noise, give it away.

“Wonderful, darling!” said Aziraphale, and flashed one of his megawatt smiles, with a touch of coy “I’m being naughty, aren’t I?.” 

They listened, and Crowley felt himself blushing whenever Artiyael started talking about his feelings. How irritating that their angel visitor could just invade his privacy like that. Blab to the world about it. He crossed his arms and glanced at Aziraphale, who didn’t react to it. 

When that other demon talked to hell, Crowley gave a grudging grunt. The little bugger had done a good job. Afterwards, they finished their cross town walk in silence and parted ways at the entrance, where many of his and Aziraphale’s eyes were stationed. 

“Can you switch to any one of those other eyes?”

Aziraphale hummed and concentrated. “Appears so, yes. You?”

Crowley concentrated, and his vision flashed between multiple angles of the same room, like changing channels on a TV. “Yup. Only one at a time though.”

“It is convenient that they move around like that on their own. And that the humans don’t seem to be able to see them. I just don’t like that my body is doing things, out there, and I don’t know about it.”

“Well, you know it now. Where else have we got eyes?”

“I honestly can’t tell. Feels like everywhere.”

“Mmmm. Yeah, the ones I checked are guarding entrances to Heaven and Hell, but there are so many. M’glad they’re automatic, I wouldn’t get anything done if I had to pay attention to them all. Built in alarms.”

“I suppose… I’ll get used to it. We are the way God made us, after all, and I’m sure she planned for this.”

“Don’t remind me,” Crowley shivered. His recent promotion hadn’t been as bad as falling but it had been, as Aziraphale put it, extremely disconcerting. “And I don’t care what she’s got planned for me. Demon, yeah?”

“But Crowley, you have to at least acknowledge the teleological aspects of our existences. Form follows function, and all.” 

This was a fact, though Crowley didn’t have to like it or want to talk about it. He’d recently seen what changes just being named “Dog” could do to a hellhound, and then the bodily changes that had come from being named then intimately changing  _ what  _ Dog  _ was _ . Feeling like he himself was being changed so fundamentally by a God who’d abandoned him really put him off. 

Which is why he decided to just be contrary. “I don’t have to do anything of the sort. Besides, teleological explanations are out of fashion, science and all being what it is, and I keep up with the times. We can’t all be stuck in the 18th century.”

Aziraphale leveled a look, using both his regular eyes to do it. “The Almighty clearly had a purpose for us and shaped us to fulfill it, whether or not that’s the current human fashion or you like that fact. And considering she shaped me 6000 years ago, I think she’s had a plan for us for a long time. Why make angels with lots of eyes? Because you need them to watch a lot of things at once. As Principalities, we have to look over our domains and keep them safe. And we have been molded and formed according to the purpose She’s laid out for us.”

“Look, I’ll grant you, having lots and lots of eyes is very useful for keeping an eye on lots and lots of things, and I’m sure that’s why She put ‘em there.” He slumped back in his chair and gave up on trying to check where all his other eyes were, using both to glare at Aziraphale instead. “And She may even have ideas about what I should or shouldn’t be doing now that She made me like this. But none of that means I have to do what she wants. I’m gonna do what I want. If those things happen to align, great, if not, that’s Her problem.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Fair enough. At least Heaven and Hell are grounded. And since they can’t miracle themselves about on earth, we have plenty of warning before they show up. Certainly makes things easier.”

“Don’t know about this holy water and hellfire that we’ve apparently been doing. I think we should figure that out ASAP, just in case. Would be useful to know how to do that one purpose.”

“Not here. I can’t have you trying to summon hellfire in my  _ bookshop _ .”

Crowley shuddered, and memories floated up of a burning building, the most important person in existence gone, crying out for his best friend, and weeping. His throat tightened and he swallowed. “No. Not here.”

Aziraphale stood, waiting.

“What?” Crowley looked around, but nothing had changed. 

“Well, are we going somewhere else or not? I assume we’re taking the Bentley.”

“Now?”

“Why not now?”

Crowley grumbled, but he didn’t really have a reason. “Fine. We’ll go to mine.” 

“Excellent. Let me just straighten up this mess and fetch our ambrosia. Wouldn’t do to leave that somewhere unsecured.” Aziraphale bent and started picking up the books that had been knocked about. These eventful last few days had certainly taken their toll on Aziraphale’s books. Crowley bent to help, knowing that if he just miracled them all back into their stacks the angel would be mad about that, complaining that “Oh but what if there was damage and I didn’t notice” which would inevitably mean that there would be damage because he’d been expecting it. 

It took a while to get the shop in order but once they had Aziraphale grabbed one of his bags, a suspiciously familiar black leather thing that looked like a small doctor’s bag, and put the ambrosia boxes in the bottom, padded by a few cloths, with his tartan tin of biscuits on top. 

“Alright dear, Let’s go,” Aziraphale said. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Crowley had burnt a hole in his bed sheets again. He sighed. Whatever. It didn’t matter, he was going to have to manifest a completely new mattress at this point anyway just to get the smell of singed silk out of the room. He grunted in his annoyance anyway. A few dozen of his new eyes were scattered about the room with him, burning brightly like the stars he’d loved in shades of white and yellow and red, the nearest hovering right above his face as he laid in the middle of his bed. He batted at it, lazily, but his hand was corporeal and so passed through it, warping in a way that tingled. It blinked at the intrusion. 

After arriving at his flat and putting Aziraphale’s bag with the ambrosia with it in his wall safe, they’d separated to the rooms they’d do the least damage in— Aziraphale in the plant room, Crowley in his bedroom. Since then he’d been practicing manifesting his eyes when and where he wanted to, and then getting them to spit out hellfire and stop on command. He’d been at it for several hours and was feeling fairly confident that he’d gotten the hang of it. Before, he had to summon hellfire from Hell or carry it in a container if he wanted any, and it took a few seconds prep. Now he could manifest an eye on his palm and have it spinning out hellfire in mere moments, less than a second total. 

He wished he’d known the Almighty was going to actually listen to his prayers, for once, back when he’d made it. He’s glad Aziraphale hadn’t fallen, but being… manipulated like that was… No one liked to be reminded that they were mere toys in the hands of a higher power, moldable as putty. That God can just show up wherever they are and do whatever she’d like. He didn’t like the idea of her mucking about to fundamentally change him,  _ again _ , without so much as a by your leave. What a surprise that She did whatever She wanted and gave no one even the courtesy a heads up. God really needed to learn how consent worked. She was a menace. 

Left him feeling a bit put out, to say the least. Learning all he could about the way his body worked was at least helping him to regain some sense of control again. 

He opened an eye in the hallway to check on Aziraphale, whose back was to it and the angel had no other eyes manifested. Aziraphale turned slightly and it became evident that he was saying something to his plants. 

Crowley groaned and sat up, “No, Aziraphale, you’re going to spoil them! What are you telling them?” and dragged himself out to go listen in. He stopped out of sight, but in earshot. 

“—and you’re so old, too. Has he had you your whole life? Because you’re looking very verdant and you’ve both done a marvelous job growing. I do hope that the holiness dissipates though or else I might have to take care of you for a while, and I’m afraid that I would do a much poorer job. I tend to forget time passing for a while when I’m wrapped up in something. Perhaps being watered with holy water will help you grow, though? One can hope.” 

Crowley pressed a hand into his chest where the warm bloom of his love burned. His stupid, fussy angel who would definitely get lost in his books and forget to water the plants for a week or two, resent how much work they were, but who would try anyway only because they were Crowley’s. Go- Sa- for someone’s sake, he loved Aziraphale so much.

“Crowley?”

He stepped out where he could be seen. “Yeah, angel?”

Aziraphale beamed and joined him, “I could feel you over here, my love. What’s got you in such a state?” 

“Nothing, really. Happy to be here.” Crowley held out his hand and Aziraphale took it, pulling their hands up to give Crowley’s a quick kiss on the knuckles. 

“As am I. Happy you’re here, that is.”

“Oh, is that all”

“Well, I’m rather chuffed to be together. I like having you.”

Crowley snickered. “Do you now?” 

A glint grew in Aziraphale’s eye. “I do. Would you like me to have you again?”

Crowley’s body heated as his mind went blank, overloaded with obscene images of the many, many ways he’d like to fuck and be fucked by his angel. Aziraphale smirked and started stroking Crowley’s arm and chest with his free hand. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale, pulling their bodies flush and pressing their lips together in a desperate kiss. Aziraphale hummed into it then deepened it, opening his mouth to slide his tongue along Crowley’s lips, to lick into his mouth and steal his breath. 

When they parted, Aziraphale’s lips were pleasantly rosy and kiss swollen, shiny and slick. Would his nipples be such a lovely color if he kissed them? He wanted to know so badly, his insides were alight with want, all sorts of want. He hadn’t even gotten to see Aziraphale nude yet, he was dying to lay him down and put his mouth on anyplace that his angel liked. To lay him out and —

“My bed is burnt.”

Aziraphale blinked. “So?”

“This is… Where should we do this?”

“How burnt?”

So Crowley tugged Aziraphale by their still-clasped hands to the bedroom and just showed him, pointing. “That burnt.” 

“That’s not so bad. Only singed, really.” He turned back to Crowley and kissed him, a quick peck, followed by a trailing string of kisses along his jaw and neck. “It will work for me, if you want to get it really messy before you have to replace it anyway.”

Crowley swallowed. “Really messy?”  [/sex] 

“As messy as you’d like. I think it would be nice if we were both positively dripping with the products of our exertions.” 

“Yessssss.” Crowley pressed a hard kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth, and then nipped at the column of his throat. “I want you to drip, be slick with it. Cover you in marks. Bite you. Suck them into you. Dirty you. Smear my obscene filth into your skin. I want you to smell like me. Mark you up.” Crowley started pawing at Aziraphale’s many buttons, but Aziraphale fended him off and started casually unbuttoning himself. 

“Oh, yes, that sounds lovely, my dearest. Let me just get my clothes safely put away. Wouldn’t want to soil them.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but stepped back to watch Aziraphale slowly disrobing, casually pulling off his layers one by one, a sweet cherry blush on his cheeks, pinkening his neck. He folded as he went, setting them on his wooden snake table by the door in a neat stack. It was riveting, watching expanses of pale skin appearing first at his neck, then wrists, then his feet. When Aziraphale finished Crowley snapped and his clothing vanished, which earned a smirk from Aziraphale as he spread himself on the bed. Crowley crawled over him, kissing his way up from his feet, reveling in the different textures of Aziraphale against his lips and tongue, licking and biting kiss marks into his skin. 

Aziraphale wiggled and let out a low moan when Crowley reached his pert little nipples, so Crowley grabbed him by the waist, stilling him as sucked. Crowley pulled back to admire his work, the pink nub shiny and hard, hickeys dotting nearby, but also, a dark hand print on Aziraphale’s pale skin, the sight of which went straight to his dick, making it pulse and throb harder as it filled. Crowley looked at his hand, which he’d apparently placed on one of the burnt patches and then transferred the soot to his angel. He ran his fingers down Aziraphale’s chest and watched as charcoal trails were left behind. 

“Oh fuck that’s hot,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale glanced down then back at Crowley. “You like that, hmm?”

Oh he loved it. The contrast. The charred smell. The feeling like he was dirtying his angel, claiming ownership of his touch, his beauty. He kissed the unblemished skin on Aziraphale’s neck, licking and sucking till it bore a mark, then made a matching one on the other side as Aziraphale moaned and wiggled beneath him, trailing his own hands up and down Crowley’s sides. 

But he also hated it. Tarnishing Aziraphale, sullying him with his demonic taint, the smell of Hell seeping into his angel’s skin. He shuddered, feeling the images from before pressing up from where he’d buried them, images of Aziraphale burning, Falling, having the Almighty rip him away and tear her love from him. It felt momentous to see the mess he was making, which only made it more arousing for him. This was his angel, only his, all for him. He bit down near Aziraphale’s collar bone, gently holding him with his teeth, wrapped his arms tight and rolled them so they were on their sides. He clung there, breathing in the scent of Aziraphale’s cologne, one hand pressing their hips together and the other tangled in his angel’s curls. 

Aziraphale seemed to sense some of his dilemma, and just hugged him back, threading their legs together so that Crowley’s burgeoning erection slotted against the smooth front of his hips, rocking gently against him, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. Aziraphale trailed his hands up and down his back, lightly dragging his fingernails every few passes.

“I love you deeply, Crowley.”

Crowley groaned and finally let go of his bite. He felt his own love surge in response and knew that Aziraphale could feel it. His angel, only his. He nosed his angel’s jaw and ear, and Aziraphale started grinding against his erection with more intent, ratcheting up Crowley’s arousal. 

“I want to… I want to please you this time.” Crowley said. “I want to make you feel good. I want to see you, see you fall apart. Make you mine.” 

“I already am yours.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed his temple. “I’ll look forward to the rest.” 

Crowley groaned and used his sooty hand to grab at Aziraphale’s hair, pulling his head back so he could crush their mouths together in a harsh kiss. He pulled back and patted Aziraphale’s hip, pleased at the dark streaks left in his hair. “Gimme something I can make you come with.” 

“Oh.” And now of all times, Aziraphale started to look abashed, “I um… well I was hoping you might show me the ropes with your, ah, well. Show me what your prior configuration is good for.”

“My prior…?” 

Aziraphale pulled his hips away and suddenly, he was sporting a lovely erection, fat and throbbing and dripping a little as it strained up towards his belly button. Crowley groaned low in his throat when he saw it, but then noticed beneath it the blushing softness of a vulva underneath and suddenly he understood. Aziraphale had copied Crowley’s hedonistic combination that he’d still had equipped when they had swapped bodies. Aziraphale, who had been so flustered by it at the time, had thought about it. Aziraphale had thought about him, about his shape, had been aroused and intrigued. That boiled his blood. His hedonistic angel, oh how this could please him. 

“You’re gonna like this,” he reached out and caressed Aziraphale’s cock. His angel closed his eyes and hummed, concentrating on his own enjoyment and it made the golden heat inside Crowley burn in him. “That’s right, my angel, you lay there and enjoy it. Let me spoil you.” and he gave him a nice long stroke, the kind he knew felt amazing as it bumped the clit at the bottom. Aziraphale let out a sigh of pleasure.

Crowley scooted back and bent to lick at his angel’s cock head, little kitten licks on his sensitive underside timed with his strokes, and moved to press his other palm hard onto his pussy lips. Aziraphale arched into the touch, small huffs of breath coming from him now. Crowley slowly slid two fingers inside, swirling gently at his wetness, spreading it across his pussy lips, dipping in and scissoring before pulling back out to smear it on his thighs, his cock, his belly, leaving slick, shining trails of Aziraphale’s own arousal to mark him more, intersecting with the lines of soot he’d previously marked him with. 

Crowley was doing that to him, for him, making him so wet and messy. His own arousal was pressed down into the mattress and he rutted down in his excitement. He switched tactics, lapping up his angel's sweet moisture, making sure to flick his clit on each wide, firm stroke of his tongue, his hand working the angel’s cock, flicking over the moisture leaking from it’s tip and swirling it around. Aziraphale moaned loudly, followed by little huffing moans on each stroke, his hips rocking into Crowley’s hand, his tension mounting visibly. 

“Crowley… ah, that is fantastic. It’s so much, it’s… they’re both so sensitive and you’re so good at pleasing them together.” Crowley smiled, then dove in, fucking into Aziraphale with his tongue while fisting his cock hard, making sure to hit his clit with each pump. 

“That’s going to make me come, Crowley. Do you want that? Want me to come for you?”

Crowley pulled back, nosing his angel’s folds, smearing his scent, his taste all over his face, “Yessss. Come for me. These parts come so much.” He pushed his fingers inside those wet folds and crooked them, rubbing hard and fast and that did it. Aziraphale tensed and started coming, pulses of clear come shooting out and striping his chest and belly. Crowley milked him through, only slowing as much as he knew he’d need to, the last dribbles coating his hand as he worked him to the end. He let go of Aziraphale’s cock, still fucking him gently on his fingers and smeared the emissions on his angel’s body, mixing moisture in places with the soot he’d put there earlier

“Fuck. Oh, yes, fuck, look at that,” Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale released a blissed out hum. “You should add some of your own, love.”

“Fuck, yessss!”

Crowley changed his genitals to match, his newly manifested vagina dripping with his excitement, and used his free hand to stroke himself. The slickness of Aziraphale’s release still coating his hand felt so good on his dick. He got on his knees and reluctantly stopped fingering Aziraphale. 

“Put a pillow under your hips and roll to your side,” Crowley said and Aziraphale complied. A little adjustment of the angle, and then he lined them up. First he sank down on Aziraphale’s cock, groaning at the feeling of being breached by his angel, stopping just inside to line his own cock up, sliding it over his angel's slick lips before pressing inside the warm wet heat of his cunt. 

“Oh that’s brilliant, darling. I didn’t even think of trying this, both of us inside each other at the same time. What a good idea.” 

Crowley grinned and pressed in and down, seating himself deep onto Aziraphale’s dick as his own penetrated Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale moaned, “Oh my Lord that feels fantastic, I’m so full of you Crowley and you feel so good on the inside, it’s so hot and wet and slick. I love you, fuck, I love you so much.”

That almost did it, for him, to hear Aziraphale so pleased, so dirty, cursing. He bit his lip and stilled his hips for a moment, gathering himself, then started fucking against Aziraphale in earnest. The world around him narrowed to just a few senses, the musk of his angels’ arousal tinged with the sooty smell around them, the breathy moans falling from both their lips, the texture of Aziraphale’s legs where he gripped them, the waves as immense pleasure as he thrust.

“I’m going—” and then Aziraphale was releasing again. The throbbing pulses inside Crowley were too much and he came with a shout, his hips bucking erratically as he filled his angel. Spend began leaking out of his own opening, dribbling onto their thighs. Finally, the tension drained from his body, he flopped back against the bed. Aziraphale disentangled their legs and crawled over to him, above him, pressing an insistent kiss to his mouth that Crowley tiredly returned, his own come dripping out of his angel and onto him as they did. 

“That was fantastic.” Aziraphale punctuated each statement with a kiss to his brow and cheeks. “Absolutely marvelous. So creative. So indulgent. I’ve been positively despoiled. Look at me, dear, look at all the marks you’ve made. Look at all the mess. Such a good, thorough job you’ve done.” He settled against him, nuzzling his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “I’ve never been so thoroughly satisfied. We shall have to do this again sometime.”

Crowley chuckled. “Now you sound like you’re inviting me to tea.”    
  
“Oh, this is definitely nicer than tea. Though I do love a good scone. And a warm cup of cocoa. Oh and a good biscuit… Crowley, my dear, I find myself to be a bit peckish.”

Crowley laughed, a full-throated bark that wound down into a chuckle. “Of course you are.” He sat up, Aziraphale going with him and gave him one last quick peck on the mouth. “Let’s get cleaned up and go to dinner, yeah?”

“Sushi?”

“Absolutely, angel. Anything you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, penultimate chapter! 
> 
> This whole fic arose from me pondering on why a principality would have so very many eyes and no wheels like the others. Like, why put them there unless they're FOR something. So I'm like, yes, lets write a fic about what bodies are for. A smutty one, obviously. 
> 
> Almost named the whole fekkin story The Teleology of Principalities but I thought that was too academic. Couldn't mention the premise in the summary either cause it gives away too much of the weirdness! So excited to finally have it out and up!
> 
> And yes by god I am that nerd who loves talking about the teleological explanations for phenomena and how they're usually flawed.


	12. Destroying Bodies

The Archangels were getting nowhere with all this talking. Gabriel interrupted Michael, “Look this isn’t getting us anywhere. How are we supposed to administer God’s will on earth if we can’t do any miracles? We can’t just ignore this new weapon, wherever it comes from, and carry on, sneaking around in small groups and doing nothing. We can’t allow it to stay as it is.”

Uriel spoke, “He’s right. We need to just destroy it and regain access to earth for Heaven.” 

“We can’t accept this as the status quo,” said Sandalphon.

Gabriel pointed at him and smiled, “Exactly! We can’t let the might of Heaven bow to this… intervention.”

“We need to fight it,” said Uriel. 

“Launch an assault on Earth,” said Sandalphon.

Gabriel nodded.

“We would have heavy casualties from such an assault,” said Michael. “We couldn’t order angels to their certain deaths at the hands of hellfire.”

“But it will still advance the war. Think of it as an advanced force, clearing the path for the rest of us,” said Gabriel.

“And surely there are angels who would appreciate the honor of dying in the advance forces,” said Sandalphon.

“Volunteers,” said Uriel.

Michael tipped their head to that. “An assault would reduce our war footing for fighting Hell, possibly giving them the edge they need to win the war.” 

“Hell needs access to the earth just as we do to advance our causes. They don’t have it anymore, either,” said Uriel. “If we did this alone, we might just be clearing a path for them. That would be a great advantage to the opposition.”

“Unless we see if Hell will join us in this assault. If we each throw everything we have at it, surely we can destroy this weapon with commensurate losses,” said Michael. 

Nods all around. 

“I’ll contact Beelzebub,” said Michael. “Uriel and Sandalphon, gather volunteers. We should be able to mount this attack shortly.” 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

They went in the Bentley to dinner and Crowley was in a good mood, obviously, by the speed and recklessness of the journey. Aziraphale spent it wracked with nerves and grabbing on to any hand hold he could, but they did arrive at Aziraphale’s favorite sushi restaurant without incident. 

The wait staff recognized him and they chatted a bit before he ordered his usual: Hot sake and the chef's choice from amongst his favorite makizushi. Crowley only ordered shochu and a few pieces of sashimi, as he was wont to do. 

The only part that wasn’t ordinary was that the whole time, Crowley had been smiling his little smiles. The one that meant he had forgotten to posture. The one that meant he was enjoying himself and Aziraphale’s company so much that he’d forgotten to pretend otherwise. Although maybe it was just that they didn’t have to pretend anymore, and so he was letting his love show now. 

Aziraphale didn’t know which he liked best, but he did know that he loved that smile either way. It was making his evening so much better than usual. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Listen up Fuckwads! It’s time to get your heads out of your asses and ready for battle!” Beelzebub called to the crowd. “The Dark Council has made a temporary truce with our former enemies. We shall storm earth from every side and overpower this new weapon! We shall take back the earth, then we will march on Heaven and defeat those righteous pricks, and claim the ultimate victory!”

At this, they stepped back and motioned Dagon up, then whispered in her ear, “Do your damnedest to rile them up and get the really gung-ho to lead the charge. Leave anyone who isn’t feral for it.”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Crowley, that’s mine,” said Aziraphale.

“I know,” said Crowley, and just kept pouring hot sake from the carafe into a freshly miracled cup. 

“You have your own beverage.”

“Yeah.” Crowley raised the little ceramic cup to his lips and tossed it back. He smacked with a big “Aaaah!” and then picked up his own cup of iced shochu and sipped it. 

Aziraphale gave a deep sigh and then ignored him, returning to his fried oyster roll. Wouldn’t do to let it sit till the heat dissipated into the rice.

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Blessings to all of you brave, wonderful angels! You have the honor of being our advanced guard, to open the way for Heaven to bestow it’s grace upon the earth! Be welcome and stand ready!” Gabriel addressed the angels that had volunteered. There were a little over a hundred thousand of them in battle ready formations. 

“I’ll be assigning you each to lines of attack,” said Michael, always down to business. “We’ll be moving simultaneously on all fronts, in a coordinated attack with Hell. Many of you will die, and your sacrifice will be honored. Get your weapons and armor ready! We charge in a matter of moments!”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“You’ve drank all my sake,” said Aziraphale after he’d tipped his carafe and only a few drops had come out. 

“I did not.” said Crowley, and slurped up one of his salmon sashimi.  [1] “I drank the last of your sake.”

Aziraphale leveled him a look while flagging down the waitress. 

“It’s nice that way,” Crowley said. “Hot sake, warm burn. Cold sake, chill burn. Good combo! Leaves it all the same temperature that you started with, double the booze. Try it sometime.”

The waitress arrived and Aziraphale greeted her warmly as ever. “Could we have two more hot sake and two more iced shochu, please? Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley smiled and felt warm all over. “You’re gonna try it.”

“I am,” said Aziraphale primly, but then broke into a big grin. “We are celebrating your promotion, after all, and our newfound freedom.”

“Cheers to that!”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Are you ready on your end?” Michael said into the phone. 

“Ready. Twenty thousand demons at the main entrance, and equal split on all the rest-- same as you. We charge on  _ my  _ signal,” said Beelzebub. 

Michael looked up in silent prayer for patience. “Fine. We’re in position, ready to charge on your command. Please begin your countdown when ready.” Her hand hovered over the button that would signal the troops. 

There was a long pause and then, “Three…”

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“Oh, that is quite nice, a play on temperature” Aziraphale took another bite of his anmitsu dessert, the burn from the double-shot of sake having abated. “A pleasing contrast of sensations. Also pairs well with the sweetness of dessert.”

“Exactly,” said Crowley. They were well into the third bottle, now. “Good with whiskey, too. Get a hot Toddy and a whiskey on the rocks. Get drunk twice as fast in all weather.”

“Now that just sounds wasteful. The point is to savor their unique flavors and enjoy what we have been given, not just to get drunk.”

“Your point, maybe.”

Aziraphale took another bite of his dessert, cool and sweet. Then a hot sensation passed through him for a moment, as if an ember had landed on him somewhere. And then again, over and over. He frowned and pulled his spoon out of his mouth with a pop. 

Crowley shivered and his head whipped to the side, concentrating. “Something’s happening…” 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

It was like something out of a nightmare. The War in Heaven had been bloody and vicious, with injured angels crawling to safety, the bodies of the fallen strewn here and there, but this… Gabriel watched from the safety of the Earth Observation Offices, intent on seeing which entrance managed to be cleared to summon the rest of their forces to it, but so far their assault had been nothing but a maelstrom of violence and death. Their celestial weapons were ineffective against the eyes, so the angels all wielded holy water, miraculously enshrouding their bodies as they poured down. They all stretched and swung, trying to hit the eyes while dodging all the hellfire but eventually every angel came up short and was obliterated, screaming as they burned, having only taken one or two eyes with them. They couldn’t run in anymore because the floor was completely covered in the smoking remains of their brethren, so they flew, their wings tucked tight, straining to fly farther, faster. 

They died anyway. 

Demons were coming in the same way, blazing with hellfire all over them, grabbing at any eyes they could reach before they too were obliterated into a puddle of clothing. Dozens of entrances, and they had made little headway at all of them. The eyes had retreated towards the walls of the rooms, but they just kept appearing, two sprouting for every one obliterated. 

Gabriel watched in horror, his hand pressed over his slack mouth, praying to God they’d break through soon. Michael entered, having come up after issuing marching orders. “How goes the battle?”

“The  _ slaughter _ ,” Gabriel said. 

Michael joined him and stared at the monitors, her eyes widening and tears forming. “God Almighty.” She pressed her hands together in prayer. 

She began openly weeping and everything suddenly went quiet. None of them were left, the sudden stillness broken only a few feathers drifting to the ground. Nearly a quarter of a million angels and demons, obliterated from existence in the span of a few minutes. 

The eyes watched on in unblinking silence. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

The spoon clinked as Aziraphale set it down rather forcefully. “That was…” 

“Ugh.”

“Quite.”

“I almost wish I hadn’t watched that,” said Crowley. “That was… a lot.”

“To put it mildly.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t have time to sober up first. That would have been... a lot more, then.”

“It  _ is  _ over, now? Isn’t it?”

Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated, expression fully visible since his sunglasses had been pulled off and forgotten on the table during the melee. He blinked them open and took the last swig of his shochu. “It’s over. For now.”

“Surely, they won’t try that again! That was… They had to have learned the futility of such a… decision.”

“Let’s hope, yeah. But also, those stubborn bastards never seem to learn, do they?”

“I’ve lost my appetite. How’s your body? I’m missing quite a bit of mine.”

“Same. We should get back to mine, heal up.”

“Oh, that’s right! The amb-” Aziraphale shifted, looking around, then continued in a low voice. “I only had five fruits. Oh… God forbid they do that again or else we’ll run out.”

“Not immediately. I mean. I could probably withstand one more round of that, just about. Would be a close thing, though.”

“Yes, but there are ten million angels and ten million demons. Even if we rationed it, we’re greatly outnumbered.” 

“Did you want to wait before we…?”

Aziraphale thought about it a while before deciding, “No. No, we can’t guarantee they won’t just mount a larger attack, if they do it again. Better safe than sorry.” He gave a mournful look to the remains of his dessert. “At least they waited till after dinner. Mostly.” He threw his napkin on the table and stood. 

Crowley bore down visibly, smacked his mouth in distaste, then grabbed a sip of Aziraphale’s ice water. “Yeach.” He stood as well, and threw some money on the table. “Alright, good to drive. Let’s go.” 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

“We need to keep this quiet,” said Beelzebub. “This will destroy morale. We’ll never get these cowardly shits to ever go up again if we don’t do something!”

“I’m… I’m not sure that’s possible,” said Dagon. “A hundred thousand demons are gone. They’re going to be noticed, missed. I don’t think we can keep this from spreading.”

Beelzebub cursed. Cursed God, cursed Heaven, cursed themselves, cursed the Dark Council. It was the most extensive cursing they had ever done.

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Crowley wasted no time when they arrived. He went straight for the safe immediately, pulling out Aziraphale's bag and handing it to him, sparking a memory as their hands brushed on the handle. 

“That’s those nazis’ bag, innit?” Crowley said.

“What?” Aziraphale set it down on Crowley’s desk and unpacked it, setting the biscuit tin to the far side from their black and golden boxes. 

“Those Nazis I blew up. That’s their bag.”

Aziraphale blushed noticeably and avoided eye contact as he put the bag on the floor, out of sight. “Is it?”

“You know it is. Why did you keep that?”

“Oh you know…” Aziraphale glanced at him and then brought his hands down to his golden box, patting it awkwardly. “Su- … Souvenirs.” 

Crowley preened a bit about that. His angel, keeping a souvenir of that night Crowley had swooped in and saved him. He wondered if Aziraphale kept souvenirs of any of his other rescues. 

Aziraphale opened his box of ambrosia and gasped. 

“What, what is it? There a problem?” 

“Look!” he lifted his opened box to show five sparkling fruits inside. Crowley’s brows shot up and he picked up his own box. When he opened it, it also contained five glittering fruits. He raised his eyebrows to that. 

“Well then,” he said, then picked out one of the shining pink jewels and held it out. “Bon Appetit!”

Aziraphale removed one of his own smokey-grey pearls and offered it. “And to you, my love.”

They both ate them together. It was a bigger rush this time for Crowley, power burning through him and outwards, swirling and healing him, re-growing the eyes that he’d lost, leaving tingling euphoria in its wake. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Alarms started going off, and the Archangels ran back into Earth Observation offices, where they were coming from. The angels that staffed it were running around, frantically making pictures and videos, still tear-streaked and distressed from the earlier carnage. 

“What’s the alarm? What’s going on?” Michael yelled into the chaos.

“The eyes ma’am! They’re… Look!” said one of the angels, pointing at the screens around the room. 

When they had stepped out to confer with one another, there had been perhaps a hundred lingering eyes staring at each empty entrance. They had started moving about reality and bending it-- a warping, swirling chaos, ripping reality in their wake with new eyes growing in the eddies. Now, there were nearly ten times as many eyes everywhere, filling up the rooms and encroaching farther towards Heaven, up into the stairwells, some on the stairs themselves. 

All color drained from the archangels’ faces. 

“There’s even more of them now,” whispered Uriel, terror in her voice.

“I think we made it angry,” said Sandalphon.

“Did we feed it? Does it eat us and grow stronger?” said Gabriel.

“This is not the time for speculation. Turn the alarms off,” said Michael. “Warn any angels guarding Heaven to be on high alert. Have everyone else stay far away from the entrances.”

The eyes motions settled somewhat, merely scuttling about like cockroaches on the walls, some winking in or out of existence. Michael had to turn away, too sickened to look any more. 

~~~~~~~👁~~~~~~~~

Crowley had estimated right, about half of his body had been obliterated, but he was whole again. He sighed deeply, feeling relaxed after such a big healing and smiled at Aziraphale, who returned it. 

He looked down at his inky void-black box and its four little fruits. He closed the box, latching it carefully, then got Aziraphale’s attention so that he too was watching.

Then he opened his box again. Five fruits sparkled back at him. Aziraphale gasped and then scrambled to repeat the process with his own golden box. When he lifted its lid back up he huffed in laughter and showed Crowley. Five fruits. 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale set his box down gently, then pressed his palms in prayer and bowed, supplicant. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lord God Almighty. Thank you.”

Crowley turned away, embarrassed, but he sent up his own silent appreciation. Well, alright, his intensely deep gratitude that he could heal his angel as much as he needed from here on out. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale was hugging him tightly. “My love, My dearest, we’re finally safe. They can’t hurt us, nothing we can’t heal from and they can’t invade the earth. It’s our domain, given to us by God herself. We’re truly safe here!”

Crowley returned the tight embrace, even picking up Aziraphale a little, swinging him in a circle. “We are.” He kissed his angel. 

👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁   
👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁   
👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁  
👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁 👁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The word for salmon in Japanese is also "sake." Crowley accidentally ordered it once and decided it was tasty to slurp down without chewing, as is his snakish preference, and now commonly orders a bit of sake with his sake and stolen sake dinner.  [Return to text] 

**Author's Note:**

> Copyediting comments are welcome. Kudos and comments fuel me!  
> And thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I have two potential fics set in this universe afterwards that I will probably write if there is interest. (one is just more weird smut utilizing their many eyes, the other is a fic about what happens if they get discorporated, which would be cute and T-rated)


End file.
